Plastic Bag - Part Deux

(Indeliberately continued from Plastic Bag)

That plastic bag?

It’s still there. Swinging from that very same branch of that very same tree.

And I wrote…an unrhymed Shakesperian Sonnet about it:

The plastic bag that’s swinging from a tree?
It hasn’t left its branch for days and days.
The winds are fierce, and I adore the strong
tenacity of oak and twig and bag.
And while I discipline myself in sleep,
the bag remains to taunt me in its dance;
the pirouettes and flips it does for me,
they mesmerize my broken, tired eyes.
A solitary audience of one
is entertained by silent crinkles. Why,
however, is my focus broken? I
must keep my diligence and vigilance in class.
And so, I must desert a dance macabre
until another day - perhaps a week?

I am turning this in for English class.