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.

—carla jeanne