Sonnet: Scratch and Sniff Me, If You Dare
by John Kendall Hawkins
I woke up this morning with a feeling
I was Divine. Godlike polyester
dazzled and left the square neighbors reeling
as if I were pall-frown Hawthorne's Hester
busting loose from Smallville's closet culture.
My change of habits brought them nervousness.
I sold life insurance for a vulture
and people scratched and sniffed my surfaces.
At lunch I got lost in a Meatball song,
thought: I wouldn't do that either for love
and mooned for that day I'd be free and wrong,
scratching my own itch, all push come to shove.
Of course, there are dark days I don't wake at all,
tremble beneath wool blankets in a ball.
