Rude Mechanicals
When I have fears I'll never write a sonnet,
my mind too weak to master rhyme and feet,
I look for structure underneath the bonnet
of Saab or Jeep, well-engineered and neat.
A chap appears, his arms weighed down with brochures,
di-dum di-dum di-dum di-dum di-dum
I'm in a dream and shun his bold approach as
a distant engine purrs iambic thrum.
"This month we have an easy-terms bonanza
our interest rates are slashed from twelve to nine..."
he rambles on as I am pondering stanza
caesura, scansion, tidy breaks of line.
I turn to him and say "I cannot use
your fine machine, unless it comes with muse."
Chrissie Williams, October 2004