A Sonnet for the Thief of Lisa's Lunch Adjectives fight their way to describe you. Mayonnaise-coated again leads the race, Bringing the rear, ferocious and sky-blue, As anal-retentive hastens its pace. Lisa's a spitfire, I'll not deny, Phaedra's apprentice in corduroy pants. Attention for which the most virile vie: Swiping Hot Pockets won't spark a romance. Something inside you she might've eaten May see you through to the following day. Next week you find your spirit's been beaten; She passes you by with nothing to say. Seeming, syphilitic, bourgeois, banal: These words define you as she screens your call. Liza Pavelich