This hissy fit is going to be a bad one;
I can tell just by the way it's coming on--
The kind would run a wife off if I had one
And piss my friends off cryin' once she'd gone.
This fit'll be the kind of one they write of
In colorful Southern-fried picaresques
Where the hero's a drunk who's never seen the light of
Seven a.m., and hangs out in burlesques.
This fit could be the stuff of legend, truly:
They'll say I must have drunk a hurricane
And spit tornadoes--got so damn unruly
I scared the rooster off the weathervane.
Yeah, once this fit gets started, son, you'll know it.
It's a shame that now I've lost the will to throw it.
1 comment:
Quite a good little comic piece. I could see the ending coming, but that didn't take away my pleasure--had the sense that nothing else would have worked. Loved the two-syllable rhyming throughout, which amplified the humor considerably. Also you got to like a sonnet that can use "hissy fit" and "drunk a hurricane and spit tornadoes." Nice going.
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