A Petrarchan Sonnet: ¡EL CHUPACABRA!
Slithering from the
dark, dry hills to feed,To hunt, to crawl, to
strike, to bite, to suck,
And lap the blood of plump goats. What luck
You aren't a goat, escaping the beast's carnal need,
As it preys, salivates, satiates its gluttonous greed.
Through barbed wire, into the straw and muck-
Frightened, the tawny goats feebly begin to buck-
It plays, it selects, gutting the heartier of the breed.
But look! There it waits (for you?) in the mud,
Stalking outside your door, cleaning its haggard coat,
Hungry eyes glinting in the light of your candelabra.
Patiently waiting to taste your pampered sweet blood.
Bored lapping it from cold, dead puddles of goat,
But all you can think, in your knock-kneed fright:
"Something rhymes with chupacabra."
A/N: I know it isn't a true Petrarchan sonnet, but plenty of people break the scheme to get it. The last line is a continuation of the second to last, which is why it breaks the rhyme scheme and gives this poem fifteen lines, instead of fourteen. It was a for a genre studies assignment, and I liked it so much, I decided to put it here.