My Poor Iambic Foot
It happened on safari at the librarty
as I stalked a grand sonnet
I had planned to bag as a trophy,
to hang on my wall.
A nearby reviewer's keyboard
accidentally discharged
(I hope it was an accident!)
Out blast a critique striking my Iambic foot
It blew off my accents,
and my big accented syllable.
I still bleed from my verse.
An alcoholic librarian sewed them back on
using a Dictionary and a Thesaurus
but she put the arsis and thesis
in the wrong order.
Ugly and painful is my Iambic foot.
I can only stager through my unbalanced stanzas
by using a ball-point-pen as a crutch.
Now my good trochee foot is giving way
from the extra weight.
I walk in circles around rhythm.
My structure, I fear, is unbearable and
my line brakes are
damaged.
I fret that my poor Iambic foot
will be bandaged in metaphors ---
forever!
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