I’m home from poetry group, it’s half-past ten
And guess what? I’ve this damn sonnet to write
Each day of my life I’ll have this burden
Like Atlas but not Jude, who wasn’t quite
As keen to keep the world at the same height
Sure, my shoulders ache and my back is bent
From daily duty, sonnetary weight
But shift that globe from side to side, invent
New positions for holding, heaven-sent
Chances to view American, Asian,
African landscapes underneath a white
Cloud cover, close up, clandestinely rent
By borders, orders, sordid deeds of men
Describe in fourteen lines, then rest the night
Wed 11 June 2008
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