Stuffing It In
Today I feel the urge to do a sonnet:
I’ll see to it before the morning’s out.
Just one word rhymes with sonnet, but no doubt
a slant can be insinuated—Done it!
So far so good. Enjambment helps: let’s run it
between the lines. I’m half-inclined to flout
the rule insisting on a turn, about
line nine. Screw Petrarch’s horse! Who’d ride in on it?
But like the nag I’m knackered, so let’s try
to reach a lazy climax; soon be there:
just ease it in, far better not to force it.
Sonnets are like those garments ladies buy—
I’m thinking of restraining underwear.
Sometimes the bulges overcome the corset.
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