POEM: Turvy Town [Sonnet]

In our town, soundless sounds abound.
The right are wrong; the sighted, blind.
The king is fired, and peasants crowned.
The waters plowed; the sky is mined.

The pauper 's taxed; the righteous fined.
Arsonists fight fire with more fire.
Notebooks are vertically lined.
Sellers hand money to buyers.

Only the town nudist is attired.
Workers fill holes yet to be dug.
Things are made after they've expired.
Patients prescribe the doctors' drugs.

If your right is left and up is down,
you're perfect for our Turvy Town.

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