Sonnet: I Blame You, Lorraine
by John Kendall Hawkins
.
Hope is the thing with feathers Dick Cheney
just shot in the face. Sorry, friend, he says,
kneels, and picks up the sweet disposition,
a persona, non gratis, with vision
that does not end with darkness in high rez,
and hands a worldly gaze back, now grainy.
Despair is the bat out of guano hell
that brings dis-ease and viral YouTube clips
of your memories, monetized: Bogie,
she always gets on the plane, old fogie.
Blow a whistle, Lauren says, you got lips.
You go to kiss, hear mourning's wake-up bell.
I'll be waiting in the new day's gusty drizzle,
pressed to my head a water gun pizzle.
