Jack’s Sonnet

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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.

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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.