SONNET RANT: In Which Capitalists Are Rebuked When They Complain About Capitalism

Free enterprise, what makes this country great,
Say many, but there always comes a time
When jingoists and their ilk must partake
Of their own words, when they cry "it's a crime
That this guy's charging me so much for work
He's done for me today!" and when said day
Is one of rest, when he was home. That "jerk"
Is just as free as you to spend, his way,
His precious summer hours. And this July,
This Fourth, well it's a holiday for all.
Yes, your emergency sure sucks, but I
Don't see why that means that, when you must call
For help and interrupt another's fun
That he can't charge you more. That's freedom, son.

At Work With A Sinus Infection Makes A Sonneteer Very, Very Cranky

Cheese graters scraping raw nerve endings; that's
What hearing human voices feels like now,
Or having been thrown in a sack of cats
All on the fight; I cringe at each meow.
The purest air still singes at my nose
As though it were an acrid, poison gas.
My ears implode, and just touching these rows
Of keys to type this in's like nails on glass
Or slate. Infected sinuses - a curse.
My temper flares; it's well that I'm unarmed.
A murder rap would only make things worse.
When Mom reads this I know she'll be alarmed,
But she knows it's just something that I do.
I'm worse, please be assured, when it's the flu.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Wish A Motorist Ill

Convertible driver, you funny guy,

While it's hilarious, sure, I agree,

To honk your horn just as I pass on by

You on my bike while I go 'crosst the street,

And laugh a brutish laugh at my small scream,

It's funny, too, to hope that some day soon

A murder of foul crows cuts loose a stream,

A rain of well-used carrion, right at noon,

On you and your sweet ride. I'd not so curse

Were honking as I passed your only sin --

But revving up your engine with a lurch

Right for me? Lo, the harridan within

Me wakes and calls down all upon your head

A shower of shit. You'll wish that you were dead.

SONNET DARE: In Which I Plan My Annual Hasty Escape From Cheyenne

Cheyenne is where I live and work, but lo:
Each summer comes a time when it's like hell.
At first in June the streets are torn up so
That bike commuting's best, though a hard sell
For folks who love their pickups as these do.
Post-haste a summer's worth of work is done
In preparation for an onslaught. Coo!
Frontier Days brings all, under one hot sun,
That I like least about Wyoming life:
Fake cowboys, amateur drunks, strafing planes,
Loud music that goes twang and redneck strife
(Thanks, Walter, for this dare to list my banes).
At least it leaves the mountains free for those
Who like Wyoming for its sweet repose.

SONNET RANT: Well, That Certainly Showed US

I sighed to learn just earlier this May
From Pew Research that those who go church
And brag about their being saved will say
More than those who eschew it, that their search
For God and safety tells them it's all right
To torture those suspected of a plot
To terrorize. I sighed but was contrite
That I was not surprised. Now I'm distraught
To hear the latest news: A doctor who
Performed abortions met today his death
Outside his church. I'll say, I really have no clue
How murder, torture may in the same breath
Be called good deeds by those who say they seek
To follow one who blessed the sinning weak.

Sonnet Rant: I Am Somewhat Disappointed In The Great State Of California This Afternoon

It's possible that I was in denial.

I thought for sure that Proposition 8

Would soon be headed for that growing file

Of stupid laws we laugh at and berate

Our ancestors for having on their books:

Like banning public bowling, or the play

of dominoes on Sunday, but it looks

As though in California, if you're gay,

You'd better have already tied the knot

With your sweetheart. And if you've yet to find

The right one, plan to elope to Vermont.

They used to say that Iowa's behind

The times, but now the Golden State would seem

To have gone back to the first age of steam.

In Case You're Wondering, I Don't Support The Death Penalty Either, But That's A Matter For Another Sonnet

I don't care who you are or what you've done,

You don't deserve a simulated death,

A thumbscrew, rack or shock. I am not one

Who cries for blood like some Lady MacBeth;

I'd rather not be screaming at a spot

On hands or conscience. Hurt me and I'll take

The right to hurt you back but I will not

Do so when you're tied down, or to a stake.

You'll stand and face me equally, and if

I can't even the odds myself I'll use

The justice system, slow but sure and stiff.

You get your say, I mine, but I refuse

To act like you, nor would I e'er respect

Such being done on my behalf unchecked.

Sonnet Rant: Invasive Species And Their Careless Carriers

Swine Flu is not the only thing that's spread
By careless people doing careless things.
Five hundred thousand bats, we learn, are dead
From white-nose fungus. Silent are their wings,
And closed now are the caves from which they flew.
Meanwhile a pamphlet's making all the rounds
To lecture boaters never to pooh-pooh
That zebra and the quagga mussels' bounds
Will keep expanding, grow from lake to lake,
Its larvae hitching rides in boaters' tanks.
The fungus, too, may come in people's wake
As they tour caves around the country. Thanks.
Free Comic Book Day was my topic 'til
I read this news. And now I've gone all shrill.