Petrarchan Sonnet #1: Money Down Blues
by John Kendall Hawkins
In one of the Fellinis there's a clown
with whorehouse questions about life and death,
and his boffo answer that takes the breath:
O who the f*ck knows. Puts his money down,
hops on his honey pot, and goes to town
like Man's evolution was on the line;
shoots his load into her vaginal brine --
mine field of lost sighs for the Kaiser's crown.
On the toilet stall wall: Dante was here!
And just beneath it: Beatrice was too.
Ideals and illusions disappear
with the wads, the long-held beliefs of poo
expressed in groans and grunts and gaseous air;
flushed away revolutions in the loo.