The daily prompt today was to write a parody or satire based on a famous poem. I chose a small selection from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land.
fall from grace
all due respect to the poet,
september is the cruelest month,
our children and our harvest whisking away;
silence and dying leaves,
singing melancholy in their place.
my sorrow complete by empty playgrounds
reminiscent of joy,
but stark and barren like my arms.
so i rode my bike to town,
to the library, to the gym,
and took myself out to breakfast.
i listened as george from the diner
sing the blues about
the breakfast club dwindling down
to a few elderly patrons chewing—
a symphony of gums
smacking against dentures.
i looked into the dismal gray sky,
taunting clouds covering
seductive sunshine; too much
history here to overlook.
my bags are packed, reservations are made,
it’s time to head south
for the winter.