Monthly Archives: February 2012

God of Monday Morning


God of running just a little late,
Of the scraping of windshields, another month at least—
Of I cannot wear the shoes that are perfect for this outfit
(the shoe repair I paid good money for didn’t last)—
God of where the hell did the weekend go?
Those hours that stretched so wide and open Friday night—
They dried up and blew away, went down the drain—
I must not have planned each hour exactly right—
I had some fun, I got a few things done
And yet I start the work week just as behind
As ever, always, apparently eternally I am—
Compared to everyone else’s current shitstorm
I know I’m lucky. I know I’m whining and
I do praise God that some days, this is as bad as it gets.
And yet, dear God, what if this is as good as it gets?

Really Kind of Pitiful Follow-Up Sonnet Also Dedicated to DJs

for Jonathan & Kitty

I whined about driving west, just missing you,
Except I don’t know if you know about
The poem I wrote because I posted it
In an email form which maybe didn’t get through,
Or maybe you already read it on the air,
Or made fun of me when I couldn’t hear
(Because, as I pointed out, I lose your signal
On my way to work). I know I sound pitiful.
Poets are used to rejection. But somehow this
Has come to matter more, or at least as much,
Or almost as much. It matters, at least.
I no longer care about swag. Well, maybe a shirt.
What I want is to be Triple M’s poet laureate.
Or, failing that, could you play a request?

Wouldn’t it be great if Triple M had a poet laureate? I would completely take requests. Need an ode to Mumford and Sons? I’m your girl. Or maybe what you’re wanting is a  heartfelt request that Springsteen bring his tour to Madison, the heart of a recent populist uprising (in ballad form, perhaps, something that could be sung to the tune of one of his laments).

Or I could do a haiku on the signs of spring:

poor willow catkins
swaying in the winter breeze
cold squirts of mustard

Or maybe not. I’m not very good at haiku.

But what about this? A sonnet report of stuff for sale along Highway 14? Today for example, there was

A big RV by the trailer park in Lone Rock,
A whole grain bin (in parts) at the Co-Op
And one of those cursed locations where no one
Will ever make a business run….

Or wildlife reports–how many sandhill cranes I’ve seen recently, or roadkill counts, or what various herds of cows are up to.

P.S. I’ve repeated the last line of my first pitiful sonnet as the first line of this pitiful one, which means I’m plunging into what is known as a crown of sonnets. I can’t stop myself once I’ve started these, so you’ll get at least five more sonnets, no matter what.