Petrarchan Sonnet


Did he ever fantasize in the shower
about Reina Feliciano
while his wife vaccumed?

Henry could not make that
a public record, but his mind wondered…
dirty laundry, especially panties

should only be aired
if they belong to famous women, his mind insisted.
Marilyn on her deathbed would not mind the intrusion.

Sylvia Plath in her cozy little oven
would not put up a fight
as you pulled them around her ankles.

Anne Sexton would sit there, stiff in her car.
If you don’t mind
panties reeking carbon monoxide,

go ahead and ply your trade.
“Are you done yet?”
yelled Henry’s wife, the cleaning maven.