A Sonnet Called Sonnet

He slouches in his dragon's saddle, eyes
Laconically what this two-bit town
Can offer, spits his parsley out, climbs down,
Ties up his mount with green spaghetti, tries
To make it to the wedding cake, but spies
Have contacted Control; the clockwork clown
Explodes in pomegranates. With a frown
He draws his salary; the lizard dies.
Much later, cactus farmers raid the fridge.
A fight breaks out and someone kills the goose.
But look! An enigmatic sunshade grieves
For those who stand in profile on the ridge.
He pauses while he sets the teacups loose;
Then lights a smoke; kickstarts his dragon; leaves.

© Peter Howard

first published in the Jersey Eisteddfod Anthology 1994