A Sonnet for the Arranged Marriage
A poem to make you happy you got to choose your own mate.
Shall I compare thee to a filthy, smelly rat in rusty can?
Thou art uglier and more putrid,
Thy face is such, I cannot tell whether you be girl or man,
Oh thy eyes, beady to the end,
Thou hair (or fur), foul to touch or wend,
Under the unforgiving sun,
Your rotting skin and stomach distends,
And thy complexion makes thee more hideous than a leprechaun,
And your touch bringest winter anon,
With more pain than the dark eye of the vulture,
Wouldest be better to get stoned and condemned to torture,
Than be a fixture in that, your pathetic life,
And thus a certain woman draws light whence she go,
That is most definitely not you, we both know.
Author bio: Jay Krasnow is a public affairs professional and journalist who has, over the past 25 years, worked in government communications offices and as a writer for trade publications.
