Hear My Prayer, O Lord . . .
Hear my prayer, O Lord, though all I do all day is watch
old black-and-white movies on TV. Speak to me
through William Powell or Myrna Loy, solve the mystery
of my sloth. Show me the way to take a walk or catch
a cold, anything but read another exposé
of the Kennedys. Teach me to sing or at least play
the piano. For ten years I took lessons, and all
I learned was to hate Bach. Shake me up or down. Call
me names. Break my ears with AC/DC—I deserve far
worse. Rebuke me in front of my ersatz friends. Who cares?
They don’t like me much anyway. Make me fat in lieu
of thin. Give me a break or don’t. I’m a hundred million
molecules in search of an author. If that’s you, thank you
for my skin. Without it I’d be in worse shape than I’m in.
“Hear My Prayer, O Lord…” by Barbara Hamby, from All-Night Lingo Tango.
I love how real and current this sonnet is. You don’t have to live in the Renaissance to write one.
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