Double Sonnet Latte With a Shot of Goldenrod

This morning I noticed the weeds and shrubs along the riverside looked extended, much like Gollum in Lord of the Rings. It’s as if time is taking its toll. Early summer is such an optimistic era. There’s nothing but the now. Late summer not so much. The marathon of a single year is not the place for sprinters. At least here in New England. You have to sidle up to time instead. Take a nap. Sleep eight hours. While away the weekends. Make plans and watch them fall apart. That way maybe you can outlive the weeds. And, like they said a long time ago, stop and smell the flowers. Maybe take an antihistamine too.

Sonnet August Ten

Dear Skye; I think the gravity of August
is pressing on the empire again. It’s time
to panama the venezuela. Rio?
Do you remember where you left the lime?
I spread the five weight thirty on the lawn
before the subway rush went all tequila
on the river. But you may have to rake
the janitor on Saturday. The Caesar
salad wilted in the laundromat
before I lined his pockets with clover honey.
That’s Ohio for you. Never be
a vegetarian. It tackles funny.
Oh and remember to unfurl the sails—
or else that damned meteor always prevails.


Sonnet August Eleven

P.S. You asked directions to the fair.
Just take the interstate to somewhere west
of Eastward. This time of year the tide is out
so be alert or you’ll find yourself the best
route to Nice. If so, then please don’t taste the goods.
If not, you’re almost there. I’d turn left at Main
but you might like the scenery on Pleasant.
After the u-turn, look for the weathervane
and follow whatever bliss the cricket takes.
If you see a praying mantis at church
you’ve taken way too many decongestants.
Otherwise you’ll see a silver birch
with flagging leaves—but huckleberry spark.
It doesn’t matter how you disembark.

~Son Rivers 2005