Long before the era of computers,
Brooklyn Henry with naught but a pen
won Pearl from a passel of suitors
with a love poem. (Pay heed, young men.)
Wise as Portia, Pearl summoned her beaux at will —
many princes, one Brooklyn boy, all ears and eyes —
and improvised a contest for ink and quill,
her synecdochal hand the grand prize.
“In a twelve-line sonnet both virile and brainy,
Suggest a honeymoon in the current fashion.
The winner will claim my heart and miscellany,
By versifying his fervid passion.”
“I have puzzled,” wrote Henry, “on this abstraction
as if you were my love and I a mere minor.
I’ve never understood the attraction
of courting on a slow boat to China.
“Having considered every town and location
I favor accessible terra firma
for convenience and a stable foundation
whence to embark upon your derma.
“I've studied the globe in my conjecture,
and choose the sands of Nevis
on which to explore your magnificent architecture...
and quick, before you leave us.”
Pearl was won over, as indeed would you be.
But the Caribbean proved too tony,
So they ever-aftered in a cottage by the sea,
on the Isle not of Nevis but of Coney.
