Jim

A Trojan Horse Sonnet

On the beach to sonnet’s chagrin
our present is history again
where juke joint music is hopping
with Araby’s horses clopping
down the rocky roads to Ilium
where the dead father’s will be done
my little pony sings a bloom
in a voice deeper than Grant’s tomb.
Prufrock kneeling at the alter
prays for Ariel’s sad water
calculating Sylvia’s math
Lizzie Bathory’s in the bath
	communing with the Virgin’s blood,
	the young acolyte chews the bit.