Wishful Thinking

Form: Alfred Dorn Sonnet

As screeching metal closes behind us
And the shelving between windowless walls
The pallets and crates stacked above our heads
Mere words seem lost in industrious fuss
But still the excitement, how it enthrals
So slowly forward a poet’s foot treads
As we walk up the long aisle holding hands
Right to the end where only silence stands
In the darkest place where the storemen cuss
Where once I toiled too, and learned to say ‘fuck’
Like only a man can but still discuss
How life is nothing more than simple luck
So I wrote poems in this gloomy gus
Now we watch them move on a forkie’s truck

©JG Farmer 2019

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