Lunch’s Labour’s Lost

I work from home a lot, wasting away.

Needing sustenance but still stuck, hungry.

My available options are not good.

A bag of broccoli, a raw, red pep-

per, half a cup of lemon yogurt, and

some squares of rich dark chocolate, to taste.

A month ago I ate a tin of fish

sardines by themselves nothing else, the can

was buried in the back of the pantry.

Writing in iambic pentameter

is a real pain in—three more syllables.

Love’s Labour’s Lost in Translation

How humans used to communicate feelings of love:

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; 
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st; 
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

-Shakespeare, Sonnet 18

How humans communicate feelings of love today:

ios_emoji_smiling_face_with_heart-shaped_eyes

Makes sense.

Iambic penistameter

We studied Shakespeare in junior high school.
We read Romeo and Juliet. Then
[foreshadowing] A Midsummer Night’s [Wet] Dream.
I was chosen to play Lysander in
the class production. I got a boner
and everyone stopped. It wasn’t a big
show [that’s what she said]. There wasn’t an aud-
itorium with parents, costumes and
crudely printed programs and video
cameras to document my on-stage
boner. Then again, maybe there was.
Everyone dies in Macbeth. Spoiler alert.