Sonnet Number One
She swims she swims she swims she swims she swims
and puzzles momentarily.
Then legs go round rust one more time, then swims.
As though she planned it so meticulously
Checking the left and right and front and back
sides frantically feeling the shell she wasn't born with.
She's crunched inside this two square feet of lake.
She can't escape the murky water. Crunched,
and that's her name. Named crunch, like turtle road
kill. Bashed-out brunch. But once a week she sees
sweet freedom, taken from her captive abode.
In laundry basket palace free thought frees... but
only for an hour while they clean
the tank she gets to taste what freedom means.
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