On another note entirely, I mentioned a while back that a friend of mine had bet me I couldn't write a sonnet about angioplasty. I was somewhat bored yesterday, and the result was this fairly dire effort.
An arch can’t stand upon a crumbling wall.
The chamber sinks in on itself, the blood
Flows sluggish through the ruined hall.
It seeps and trickles, not the pulsing flood
Which ought to flow in cleansing waves through all
The body. It’s a stream choked with mud
Trickling and pooling in a filthy stall.
Then comes the surgeon’s tool, opening in bud
Swelling and blossoming into life, the broken
The slipping arch is pushed back into place.
As if a magic formula was spoken
The sudden blood flows into fill the space
Then out to the whole body, strength awoken
And health returns again by medicine’s grace.
Perhaps for my next effort I ought to write a sonnet about chickenpox... well, maybe not,
An arch can’t stand upon a crumbling wall.
The chamber sinks in on itself, the blood
Flows sluggish through the ruined hall.
It seeps and trickles, not the pulsing flood
Which ought to flow in cleansing waves through all
The body. It’s a stream choked with mud
Trickling and pooling in a filthy stall.
Then comes the surgeon’s tool, opening in bud
Swelling and blossoming into life, the broken
The slipping arch is pushed back into place.
As if a magic formula was spoken
The sudden blood flows into fill the space
Then out to the whole body, strength awoken
And health returns again by medicine’s grace.
Perhaps for my next effort I ought to write a sonnet about chickenpox... well, maybe not,
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-27 10:25 pm (UTC)