When I decide to write a sonnet, I
for once can't think of what on earth to say.
But if you pry and promise you will cry,

then all right, fine, I might agree to play.
It isn't tough to look for sounds around
the house. It isn't tough to spot a mean-

ing in a tree. But what if you astound
your friend? Say, what if you seem to career
right past a chance to rhyme exactly, or

even refuse to keep up the rhythm?
Take one suitcase, pack with exelsior,
fed-ex to your guinea pig to sleep in.

Oh, it would be so obvious for them
out there, watching the temperature deepen.