A sonnet’s like the pond outside my house.
This pond was built for sewage management.
I’ll take you down to it, you have intel-
ligence I like. We’ll trundle down and hush.
You ask me, why so quietly? Answer:
my fish will swim to suck your toes and stick
Their fishy noses in the weeds and muck
Around in spotted shiny golden gear.
I swear this pond a poem it has a fish;
I dropped her in myself, bowl and all
the plastic mermaids, still might be you can’t
yet find her past your wavering face she’s un-
derneath just look dammit and if you had
a real pond deep pond thoughts—I should
have tried to give you more than mud.