Sonnet: PSA


Oh boy I’m falling & it’s not a public service
announcement of a pitch-shifting conundrum,
or a bastard chanting “war” in cheery tones—

We’ve given over our cherry sodas to St. Louis,
city of snow & the highest monument, The Hill,
& Thom Fletcher, who longs to appear in a poem.

I like my coffee sweet & scented with the extract
of a certain nut. The planes swoop so close you can
almost read the call signs: “Woody,” “Brick,” “Killer.”

My Ave Maria has flown the coop, along with “best
friends forever,” along with erotic emails, along
with Christ, Jesus, & “illuminating presences.”

I give you this present for your choice of holiday.
Now get out of my line; I can’t see the highway for the trucks.