Sonnet Penned on a Paper Napkin While
Drafting a Sestina in an All-Night Diner
Oh, man, this is like seriously effed up.
The eggs are drowning in their hollandaise
Like Stevie Smith in the Atlantic. “Cup
Of coffee?“ asks the waitress. No more daze--
I'll be buzzing like a bandsaw after
Two, writing on. (Six words, my sestina
Cycle, spin like
laundry, or like
laughter).
Where's Friday to my Crusoe, Altafina?
Bacon like rickrack curls upon my plate;
5-3-1...the stanzas coil and wait...
Three cups downed black--yet no muse--what's the use?
Gold flecks Formica like the coins from Zeus.
"$6.24's your check," my waitress chimes.
I'll have to tip her in like total dimes.
___________
This bit of doggerel (like an episode of
Dragnet) is based on an actual incident, during which I learned several valuable life lessons.
A. Never order hollandaise sauce in an all-night diner.
B. Don't use the words “laundry” and “laughter” to end-stop a sestina.
C. When one uses yard-sale change to cover a restaurant tab, one should anticipate the wrath of one's waitress.
D. Formica might really be fool's gold.
P.S. The last line was modified from something Anne Lamott said in a lecture on writing. I gratefully acknowledge her index card method.
