I speak as though my dog can understand
American. This happens mostly when
I'm angry. He obeys--I've got to hand
It to the pooch. Although he'll bark again
Despite my "get your ass inside" and "what
The heck'd I say," at least he knows to keep
His eyes away from mine. I never taught
The boy to carry papers; s'why he'll creep
Instead of march across the threshold, low
So I can't spot him, unaware I'm right
Damn there--and then he runs. It goes to show
I need a higher fence: perhaps a white
-washed front, then soundproofed on the inside. Man's
Obliged to check his borders, if he can.
1 comment:
Well, I mainly comment since, congratulations! I have yet to write for today...was just going to head off in hopes of success.
After that, a couple things, if I can recall it all while typing...
"American" because you are NOT. I would never think of it, being one myself. Lovely little catch.
I love this one for how very well it flows, the Shakespearian seems to fly effortlessly while sharing a personal snapshot. I love it when the sonnet happily plays that out.
Ah, I see yet another point, your original accent allows you to unthinkingly pair "what/taught" which does not really work, at least in the Chicago area.
Well, I suppose I should really more critically address it, but I am too easily pleased with it.
Delightful and as characteristically sloppy as the Shakespearian form usually invites. La, though I've been a bit reckless with the Petrarchan until reproved.
I love it.
ttfn,
...Off to hopefully be as successful!
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