A Sonnet for the Thief of Lisa's Lunch
Adjectives fight their way to describe you.
Mayonnaise-coated again leads the race,
Bringing the rear, ferocious and sky-blue,
As anal-retentive hastens its pace.
Lisa's a spitfire, I'll not deny,
Phaedra's apprentice in corduroy pants.
Attention for which the most virile vie:
Swiping Hot Pockets won't spark a romance.
Something inside you she might've eaten
May see you through to the following day.
Next week you find your spirit's been beaten;
She passes you by with nothing to say.
Seeming, syphilitic, bourgeois, banal:
These words define you as she screens your call.