THE CHER SHOW SONNET
I grew up on a farm that was rather exhausting and dull.
It was pretty, with nature, but besides goats, was lonely.
Instead of tractor mechanics, my flight of fancy was prone
to copy more glamorous things and aspire to be beautiful
and imagine the hay wagon that the tractor would pull
to be a stage with a backdrop all mod and so overblown
where I would sing like Cher into the corncob microphone
and I pretended I was in a shocking gown beyond wonderful.
My older brothers would grimace from the feedlot next door
and plot how they might make me quickly leave this earth.
I was an embarrassment to myself, and more so, to them.
They didn't want another whacked-out Cher Show encore
they had no idea the little boy was finding brief mirth
real farm boys don't think about trying to transcend.
Peter Joseph Swanson