The Snot Green Sea

An Explicated Sonnet

I said I was jealous of your Bloomsday
and I acted as if it were doomsday.
You said these poems were not real poems
I followed your advice and just showed them.
English understatement was on display
all I could say was an amazing day.
I will apologize for being mean,
I’ll never say sorry for turning green.
It just shows I’m capable of the truth,
even surrounded by annoying youth.
The deal is sealed in what I want to do
I don’t want to teach, not even for you.
	I guess this means you were right about me,
	Professor Mae’s snot green sea is jealous.

This is a Trojan Horse Sonnet, a variation of my own design, rhyming couplets whose final two lines do not rhyme. What follows is an account of how I wrote this poem from a Trinity College dorm.

Yesterday I posted that June 16, 2022 was the most romantic day of my life. This is an attempt at giving a more honest account of that experience as this is what I wrote during that time. My professor, one Stephen Dilks, and our other companion, Howard, had seen a spectacular performance of Hades at Glasnevin Cemetery. My need to “finish” the book was feeling shallow, petty, and like I had missed the entire point of the endeavor of getting out and about town.

On top of this, Jessica and I experienced a minor wardrobe malfunction. I had packed clothes for the theater, and Jessica had packed a Batman tank top. We also asked Howard, the shortest member of our group to take the picture, so we look giant. We looked positively ridiculous if I say so myself.

Hindsight has many benefits. Joyce didn’t hide behind this mask, and neither will I. I wouldn’t be writing this way, and reading wouldn’t bring me this bliss, if I hadn’t been crazy enough to go and do this.

“Jealousy” was written with a head full of Covid at the peak of the symptoms. The confession of the jealousy I had towards Dilks and Howard is linked to my own sickness, “turning green.” My capability of addressing this truth: spoiled, petty, and childish as it may be; extends to my capability of saying I tested positive to the group with complete transparency. Getting Covid on a study abroad trip feels like spoiling everyone’s party. Reporting the positive test feels like an unnecessary and useless thing to do that will only have immediate negative consequences, and any positive consequences are simply the satisfaction of knowing one did the right thing, otherwise out of sight and out of mind. This is what it feels like to read Ulysses on a study abroad trip. I do have the satisfaction of rubbing it in Dilks’ face that of all the people in Dublin for Bloomsday, me and Barry McGovern were the only ones who read the book to completion. Maybe he’ll remember that the next time he condescends to me about approaching sacred objects with respect.

Anyways, I pulled a Murphy and got Molly’s “yes.” as a tattoo, and we got at least one good picture together.