So trite and tired our chosen subject, “June”.
It mires in sentiment and in cliche--
weddings, graduations, Fathers’ Day--
and don’t forget to rhyme it all with “moon”.
Embellish it with roses, hum a tune
(for “what is so rare as” something new to say?).
Musicals tell us all this is the way--
The audience will all be yawning soon.
June, prancing in, unconscious of abuse,
looks at our city rooms with healthy loathing,
shoves us to camps where air is piney cool,
prods lazy muscles stiffened with disuse,
pulls off constricting swathes of winter clothing
and, smiling pertly, dunks us in the pool.
This is a silly little sonnet, probably unworthy of the sonnet form. It is an easy form for me to use, however, especially after translating sonnets from Portuguese. And in my opinion, frivolous verse seems more humorous if formally presented.