I wrote this sonnet during the height of the Covid-19 lockdown last spring. It’s not autobiographical, but I can relate to parts of it, especially bounding out of bed in the morning.
Jack’s Sonnet
Jack waits inside his doctor’s waiting room
Wishing he could be in bed instead
At night, his bedroom’s colder than a tomb
Allowing him to practice being dead.
Jack sets the thermostat for 53
Surrounds himself with blankets like a shroud
Pillow on his face so he can’t see
And shrieks “I hate this horrid life!” out loud.
But wait! The story doesn’t end quite yet –
In fact, he sleeps quite soundly through the night.
At dawn he’ll snatch his phone to read the news
Of all that happened since the sun last set,
Then bound right out of bed and start to write
A sonnet that expresses all his views.
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Hi Garrett –
I don’t have that set up on my blogsite now, but will install it soon.
Thanks for writing,
Bruce
I think everyone can relate to many parts of Jack’s Sonnet. I don’t bound out of bed in the morning however.
At 76, rehearsing for death is not so far from my mind, even though i don’t have Parkinson’s. But I have mortality. I really liked the poem. Thank you.