Thursday Sonnet: About Milkshakes

Let’s sum it up; I’m in a break-room, work
Begins again in twenty, in which time
I barely find the space (or wits) to rhyme,
And I am asked to conjure from the murk
Of uncreated poetry a piece
About – I do not pull your leg – the milkshakes.
I think a masterpiece the kind that Rilke makes
Is quite unlikely here (much to his peace),
Besides, I’m half the poem in and less
Than writing it, I’m writing of it. Wrong?
Thank God for the Romantics. To them belong
The paradigms which (maybe) save this mess:
When you don’t have a bloody thing to say
You verse on verse (oh yeah – die before your day).