Sad Commentary On Aging, Revised Options

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Sad Commentary on Aging

Revision

On the corner,
of Fifty Seven, Second Avenue,
is a blue house,
with red and yellow trim.

There's a chimney where you can see the white smoke
billowing out into the cold winter's air,
layering soot, fallow upon the deep snow.

The old man that lived there,
always wore plaid shirts and blue jeans;
children out playing, their cheeks all pink and rosy,
were witnesses to his changes,
his increasing anger and bellowing
when they would all run across his front yard.

They thought it fun, and giggled and laughed at him
cause he was old and slow.

Until last Wednesday when he shot
Billy Prescott's red haired head off with a shotgun.

Now the old man's in prison and the white snow's all red,
and the children,
they're catatonic and kept in their bed.

revised 25 July, 2009
© Steve Pray


Original

There's a house there on the corner
of Fifty Seven, Second Avenue.

It's a blue one
with red and yellow trim.

It has a chimney where you can see the white smoke
billows out into the cold winter's air.
Layering soot, fallow upon the deep snow.

Children were out playing, their cheeks all pink and rosy.

They were witnesses to the changes
in the old man that lived there;
he always wore plaid shirts and blue jeans,
hollering when they would all run across his front yard.

They thought it fun, and giggled and laughed at him
cause he was old and slow.

Until last Wednesday when he shot
Billy Prescott's red haired head off with a shotgun.

Now the old man's in prison and the white snow's all red;
and the children,
they're catatonic and kept in their bed.

5 July 2009
© Steve Pray

[vessq]

Hi Steve,

This poem rings true because it happens all too often.

I think fewer words would have more impact.

For example.

On the corner of Fifty Seven
and Second Avenue
is a blue house
with red and yellow trim.

There is a chimney
where white smoke
billows into cold winter air
layering soot, fallow,
upon deep snow.

The old man who lived there
wore plaid shirts and blue jeans.
Children, with pink and rosy cheeks,
played and witnessed him changing.

They thought it fun and laughed
at him because he was old, slow,
and only hollered at them
for running across his lawn.

I think the first verses should describe an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. Once we are proceeding safely down this familiar track, the last verses should create a mental train wreck.

Last Wednesday,he shot
red-haired Billy Prescott's
head off with a shotgun.

White snow stained red,
prison for an old man,
and children, catatonic,
kept in their beds.

I do not much like doing this extensive a re-write of another poet's poem. I do not mind when others do this with mine but am uncomfortable doing it with your words. This poem is worth the risk of giving offense. The poem, in my opinion, requires stark language and as few words as possible.

I trust you will ignore any suggestion that does not suit you.

Vess