Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Love Sonnet (sort of)

NASA image


Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?


Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

                                                                by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)






Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Not this week?
Yet, do not such extremes render one more temperate by comparison?
The darling buds of May are shrieking in agony right now, as
Too hot the eye of heaven shines for at least the last four days.
When all the world seems sticky and uncomfortable, and starting to smell . . . well. . . let’s be honest, a bit ripe
Thine words, thine voice, are as central air conditioning and a
Camelback full of Gatorade.
Thou hast never wilted vegetables on the vine, so really,
Thou art looking pretty good compared to this infernal season.
And thou ought not get me started about the brown-outs.
Oh no thou didn’t!
Yes, power outages. ‘Zounds, why did that fan just suddenly stoppeth?!
Alas, it was really more like a blow drier at this point.
But I digress. . .this heat . . . what was I saying?
Oh, yes, thou.
Well, what can I say about thou? Thou maketh not sluggishness in me,
As doth this effing summer’s day, that’s for sure.
Thou doth not scald the fingertips of the beloved, as doth the steering wheel when in haste I have forgotten to carefully place the sunscreen against the windshield
                --though, thou art a hottie to be sure. Don’t get me wrong.
Thine presence, thine love, is as the cool blue chlorinated and well-skimmed
Pool of water.
Not the public one in the Bronx, either, where everyone waited on line, sweating and swearing
And then got into fist fights until the police came.
No, not that pool.
Nor any of the ones in Queens, or even Brooklyn.
This pool is ours alone, and we can use flotation devices if we want
And do cannonballs.
And enjoy margaritas, too.
Seriously, thou art like that.
Just like that.




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