Seinfeld Sonnet
Two days without a serviceable poem.
I think it is crunch time again.
My brain appears to be out on loan.
This is no way to gain poetic fame!
What will the subject be? Hatred of war,
or some deep down personal hidden fear?
Maybe a philosophical riff, far
from the everyday world? Maybe the year
so far, as I see it, with trenchant wit,
yeah, dream on, your wit is in very short
supply nowadays. Would you know it
if it bit you? Faking it will mean court
for false advertising. You're the Seinfeld
of poets. Sonnets made from nothing, your field!
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