Unfinished Sonnet

I'm told that I'm supposed to write a sonnet, It isn't something I could ever do; I know I'd rather shop to buy a bonnet; A size six foot won't fit a size five shoe. I look and see how little I have done; I've struggled and I've sweated through the day; I look and see the setting of the sun, And still I have no sonnet to display. I guess I'll only flunk, not make the grade, My parents, I suppose, will be depressed, (Because I'll never get a sonnet made,) But then, oh well, you'd think they would have guessed. My teacher should just go and climb a tree, She'll never get a sonnet out of me. I would love to compose a sonnet, Reading rules and structure makes me think twice, A mind grown in science does not want, To mix meter and feet to replicate Martian lander disaster twice. To me, feet and meter are measuring units, not an indication of word stress patterns, The Iambic pentameter throws right out in woods, Quatrains and couplets remind me of coupling joints. The Petrarchan (Italian) and Shakespearean style makes me wonder, Why rhythm does not stay with music of salsa and drums, Metaphor and peripeteia are some phrases to wonder, The octave and sestet probably are some music notes. Writing sonnet may not be a joke, but for aspiring minds, there must be hope.