Note

Note

In the event that you
find this, somewhere,
I want you to remember
the first time you rode the city bus.
Wanting to press your head
against the grimy glass.
Until you realized
the scum already there.

Looking out the window that day,
you saw the park, the cyclists,
the dog-walkers. And there,
too, the black bag
and dark puddle. Making
you uneasy.
For the first time.

* * *

A poem directed toward the reader was more difficult than I expected (can you sense the mantra for this blog?) I don't know if I can actually evaluate how well this one succeeded, because I wrote it and can't read it without having some part of it affect (effect? Why can't I remember that rule?) me. So, poop.

* * *

For tomorrow, an exercise in form:

Sonnet #29

William Shakespeare

When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.