Sonnet: They Call the Wind Sudoku
The peace server is down for maintenance. I’ll not
even comment on aesthetic realism’s right to be known.
Most parents say that if they had it all to do over again
they wouldn’t even bother. It’s all connected. Take
my word for it. Blame the patriarchy if you must, but
pass the ammunition. We share the stage with elderly
Australian bocce players on steroids. “Haydnesque”
is the only word I’d choose if I had to describe it.
Having found your name in the directory of the African
diaspora, I cling to it as though my very life depended
on doing so. (I’d like to take a moment here to thank
my many micropatrons for all the nickels they’ve sent.)
One small voice is all it takes to affect the economics
of popcorn pricing. Once ruthlessly ambitious, but now . . .
Hal
Halvard Johnson
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