What it is

June 2010: In a desperate attempt to stave off senility, the monkey began writing a poem a day. By summer's end he'd begun to run out of versified political rants and philosophical bloviations. Then he hit on the improbable idea of writing micro fiction in the form of Elizabethan sonnets. Eureka. The birth of the "Sonnets From Other Lives" series. Two hundred plus lives later, he's still at it.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

170
Sonnets From Other Lives: K.C.

Marco—she calls. A voice answers—Polo—
from somewhere behind her. Where is he?
Once more she calls—Marco—but now Polo-
Polo—Polo. Everybody seems
to want to play. How’s she gonna find
him now? The band will start soon then no way
will he hear her. Jesus! He’s her ride.
Why didn’t they arrange a meeting place?
Will she have to make the sixty mile drive
in a taxi? She can’t call her dad
at two AM or he’ll skin her alive.
What was she thinking? Now she’s getting mad.
Am I going to have to find my own way home
because my boyfriend keeps losing his fucking phone?
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