19 Jul 2017 – Sonnet
The sun’s stalled out in Cancer, gone to ground,
its transit like soft taffy balls which mark
their path with putty: sticky, salted, brown,
which never really find a place to park,
but never peel themselves off vinyl seats –
an indolence reprised by stagnant cats
who sleep their way through husks of heavy heat,
and now – our brand new diet drives ’em bats!
Trained pizzavores from birth, they’ve had the best
of everything. These days they frankly balk!
“More greens? No beef? What happened to the rest?”
They beg their boon, but take one sniff and walk!
Poor kitties! Who asked them to bless our fast?
They pray that – with these doldrums – it will pass!