But what’s the point of writing pretty words?
A poem never fed a hungry kid
The poem on the page that’s left unheard
Won’t take away the damage others did
The garbage has to be still taken out
The laundry room is looking like a mess
The tiles in the bathroom crumbling grout
And poems won’t do anything for stress
This foolishness is just a waste of time
You’re better off just getting back to work
And giving up your thoughts of making rhyme
Forget about all this acting like a jerk
The Catcher in the Rye had showed the way
So Lennon had to feel the price to pay
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This is a mock sonnet. The views expressed herein definitely do not reflect the views or feelings of the poet who wrote it.
I know I’m not the only one who heard crap like this.
I grew up in the blue-collar world on the South Side of Chicago. The only thing that kept my father from being a laborer or factory worker is that he enlisted in the Air Force just days before he was drafted, so he was stationed in Montana instead of Da Nang- and managed to learn a white collar trade in the deal.
NIce, tight rhyming scheme, Mark. Understanding its is a mock sonnet and a parody, I think the real voice manages to surface, the young boy who plowed his way through Catcher in the Rye, the adolescent who dug Lennon. I definitely would not toss it out.
You know, Ray, I never read Catcher in the Rye- but John Lennon’s killer did. This started out as a poem about the murder but morphed as I wrote.
Thanks, man.