It’s Black Friday. This isn’t something in which I participate. I don’t remember ever volunteering to subject myself to that kind of chaos!
I’ve also never camped out in order to be the first to buy tickets, attend a concert, etc.
(Oh, and by the way, I never cared for the Schwarzenegger film Jingle All The Way where he’s waiting for the doors to open so he can run a mad dash to snatch up the last Turbo Man action figure before they’re all sold out. Just the thought of that scene being played out in real life makes me cringe.)
I get jazzed though when I’m playing with words. I don’t have to jockey with an unruly crowd or find a parking spot or arrive early before the stacks have been picked over. My play goes on wherever I am, whenever I choose to engage my brain in play.
Today’s sonnet doesn’t offer belly laughs or profound wisdom. It is informal and perhaps prosaic. But this is word play for me. In a universe where it’s possible to have a nine-season television show about nothing (Seinfeld), this is a sonnet about the sonnet form.