Parenthetical

 

 Walls curve gently up, high prisons, 

like your hips. Poets inside can't glimpse 

 

sentence end, never see final words

drive meaning home, satiated by dash,

 

terse period, giddy explanation point.

New Yorker favorites like Alexie 

 

don't mount a rescue mission, scale 

bowed barriers, belay down, let

 

bad sonnets go. Overshadowed,

the trapped quiver, sadness looming

 

parenthetical at both ends. Like me,

only iambic lovers dream them free.

                                     Timothy Pilgrim