Kiss Concert with Daddy

A Sonnet

You were eight years old, Dad took you to Kiss,
face painted white and as a kitty cat,
with silver studs, and faux leather, all black,
we just knew this wasn’t something to miss.
You rock and rolled all night through break of day
til Dad said he’d turn into a pumpkin
then you cried and cried, scared you’d miss something,
begging him, “please Daddy, please let us stay!”
When lightning flashed across black canvas sky
on the country road where the thunder flowed
while leaving your brain squirming like a toad.
“Them college kids cared more about the high,”
	your daddy said with sharp disapproval
	through valkyrie’s flight with storm’s removal.