my father's funeral: sister

sonnet vs. free verse

I glance over at her as she closes
the door to the old eighty-eight Camry
my father had bought long ago and starts
the engine. She came down for the morning

but can’t stay. She has a biology
mid term tomorrow and Professor Dale
Jackson will have her head if she’s not there
on time. Mom packed her some peanut butter

sandwiches for the three hour trip to
San Antonio but she won’t eat them.
As she leaves I hear woofers beat Eiffel
65 through windows she won’t roll down.