Verse: Epitaphs (à la Spoon River Anthology, by Edgar Lee Masters)

"Mr. William T. Banks"

Life is a closed door
Where I, wedded, am on the outside
Constantly knocking…knocking to get in.
Working the night shift as the town century,
My days were a thick fog, sunk in the bogs of drinking and riot
Manipulated mainly by a mere finger of hers on a dog collar.
Love and sympathy were oceans away, it seemed;
Like a spider, she trapped me in her golden threads,
Her web spun of enchanting evil ensured my agonizing pain
For my sorrow was the core of her happiness.
Twisting my soul around her delicate beauty
And tearing my love into shreds of her hatred
She left me after she had drained me of all
That was my chance for a slow and painful recovery.
Years later, as a melancholy victim
Wrinkled and stooping with old age,
I died with the scar of her wickedness
And no one with whom to inherit.

---

"Suzie Weaver"

I dread even to think of my horrid mistake to marry him
Hence, I kept my own name
But nonetheless, I left him
When I found out about his unvirtuous "nighttime strolls."
In the midst of all the disgrace and asinine chatter, I was purely disgusted!
Disgusted! By the stench of alcohol
Disgusted! By the mix of cheap perfume and his musky cologne
So I bound him with the very chains of my imprisonment
And he became my helot.
I know he complained of my heartlessness
But suppose you are in my situation:
Forsaken wife and a good education gone to the dust
He deserved all that he got
In the end, guilt took me by the feet and my conscience dragged me down
When I died of a raging fever
With none but a homely stone to mark my grave.

[Written: Middle School]