Will’s Mistress
“My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun” —Shakespeare Sonnet #130
If he thinks my eyes are not like the sun,
He must think someone else’s are,
And her lips are red as coral, I suspect.
And on her head grows flaxen silk
Not like the dark wires that stick out of mine.
He probably hears tunes in her voice,
Though he says he loves to hear me talk.
She, no doubt, exhales expensive perfumes,
When he gets his nose next to her mouth.
He must think she glides along the earth like Athena,
But I just plod the ground in my flat shoes.
If his love for me is so goddam rare,
Why do I come out sounding like
Just another one of his shittin’ sonnets?
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