Is this any way to write a sonnet?
Starting off wrong-footedly, I mean,
like the clumsy kid at the prom, kept
off to one side of the dance floor, screened
from the cooler dudes so they won't feel
their own gawky ineptitude. He brought his mom!
they shriek, mugging for snaps—trained seals
balancing beach balls on wet noses, charmed
by trendy clothes that in twenty years will
date them like an avocado-colored range.
Yeah, it's a sonnet. Let it break the spell
of dull and steady iambs. Something strange
here knocks at your castle gate, Macbeth.
Let it in; it's crystal. Maybe meth.