POETRY PARODY
Convict Us
A very rough first draft by Willaim Ernest Henley
Out of the night that troubles me, Black as the Pit from yonder blackout, I curse whatever gods may laugh at me And down another glass o’ me favorite stout.
In the fell clutch of soccer madness I have not winced nor cried aloud. Though my team goes down in flames My head is bloody, ashamed, and bowed.
Beyond this place of drunken cheers Looms but the Horror of another hangover, And yet the menace of the years adds up Finds, and shall find, me in need of a shower.
It matters not how strait the line, How charged with punishments the police who make me walk it, They’ve become de facto masters of my fate: While I’m the captain of my pants’ empty pocket.
Looks like I’ll have to call it a night, pack it in, go home, and crash. Too bad I placed such an exorbitant bet they're in the football pool. That’ll teach me to get cocky with me pocky…Let’s hope I have enough oomph left to wash my pits before I hit the pillow. At the rate I’m going, it’ll be years before I make it to publication.
He who drinks and runs away lives to drink another day. He who writes and runs away may never get to a second draft — beer or poem. Wish me luck, mates. I sure as hell am gonna need it.
P.S. thanks for the bail-out, Dickey! I’ll go yours next time! Really! ~w.e.h.
Thanks to me matey in rhyme, Bob James for the impromptu prompt:
Marilyn Flower writes political humor and satire to delight socially and spiritually conscious folks. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, where she writes about faith and prayer. Five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times. Stay in touch!
