The Murder of a Balding English-Man
This one has a story behind it which probably won't mean much
to anybody who wasn't there, but here goes.
My younger brother came home after school one afternoon complaining that Mr.
Wever, his high school English teacher, had assigned him to write a 120 line
poem. To a high school boy interested in anything but homework, it seemed an
impossible task. I was in a rare (motivated) state of mind that afternoon
however, and ghost-wrote the following piece for him in a couple of hours.
At the risk of ruining the whole thing, I think a few obscure references
bear explanation:
First, as you've probably guessed, Mr. Wever was (and still is) folically
challenged.
line 64: 'his Rover of the Land'. Mr. Wever drove and was very fond of his
Land Rover SUV, although that acronym wouldn't come into general use for
another quarter century.
line 101: 'the Echo's headline'. The Echo was (and still is) a small town
newspaper and gossip sheet.
line 104: 'Eddie's sorry plight'. Mr. Wever's first name was (and still is)
Edward.
Mr. Wever was a great teacher, and I remember him and his classes fondly, as
do many who sat in his class. Weve, I dedicate this piece to you. Thanks for
somehow making me look forward to English class. Thanks for Dylan Thomas'
'Fern Hill', a copy of which I still carry with me everywhere I go. Thanks
for trying to get me to appreciate Shakespeare. I hope you're not
disappointed that I still think his plays are soap operas in fancy
language... :-)
Come closer now my roguish lads
and listen if you can,
The tale I'll tell? "The Murder of
a Balding English-Man"
A mammoth chore he did assign
to write an epic poem
then chortled in sadistic glee
"By God, that ought to throw 'em!"
'Pon reaching home that very night
I shuddered at the thought
the misery that balding English-Man
to me had brought!
I started work with all the hope
of a cripple to build Stonehenge
"A hundred twenty lines!" I gagged
and vowed I'd have revenge.
For hours I sat with pen in hand
without a care for time
but sunrise found me bleary-eyed
with nought to pass for rhyme.
My mind was made that self-same day
while dozing in his class
the scheming scoundrel crept behind
and kicked me in the leg.
I bolted up and turned my eyes
to meet his vicious glance.
"Sleeping in my class?" he roared
"Assume your battle stance!"
But sleepy from my past night's work
I failed to win the war
and grabbing me with iron hands
he pitched me through the door.
I waited patiently that day
for a chance to play my card
and when it was the dark of night
I crept into his yard.
"So, failing grades and violence
is how he plays the game.
A hundred-twenty lines..." I laughed
and set his house aflame.
I saw him stumble in next day
in truth, I was amazed.
I marveled at his stroke of luck
in escaping from the blaze.
But being bent on sweet revenge
I swore I would succeed
and soon I had another chance
to do the evil deed.
It was by luck the morrow's eve
I chanced to meet his wife
and talked her into leaving him
(or lose her precious life)
I took her on a sailing ship
both gagged and bound with cord
"A hundred-twenty lines" I sneered
and pushed her overboard.
I watched him at her funeral
conversing with a friend
and when he smiled and laughed aloud
I knew I'd failed again.
But 'twas not long I stood at rest
without some malice planned
I resolved at once to blow to bits
his Rover of the Land.
And so 'ere long I'd neatly placed
the charge beneath his seat
The taste of victory I sensed
and knew that it was sweet.
"I'll show the wretch my wrath!" I cried
"I'll make him pay his dues!"
"A hundred-twenty lines" I growled
and calmly lit the fuse.
But when the smoke had cleared away
and he was in my sight
no sign of anguish did I spy
and I cursed with all my might.
"What kind of monster does not flinch
at loss of car and wife?
Surely such a heartless cur
deserves to lose his life!"
I knew right then that I would have
just one more chance to find
a way to snuff his wretched flame
or I would lose my mind.
I thought of poison, bombs and snares
and bullets through his head;
of slicing through his jugular vein
or putting scorpions in his bed.
But all those methods had a catch
where I would likely fail:
the law would find some evidence
and I'd end up in jail.
At last I came upon a way
to waste the balding gent
the cops could check me all they liked
but I'd be innocent.
My method was a simple one
I used it right away.
So well it worked that 'Weve' was gone
before the break of day.
The Echo's headline screamed the news
"Teacher Died Last Night"
The article went on to speak
of Eddie's sorry plight.
The town was in a state of shock
the whole world was upset.
Jimmy Carter said a prayer
and the Kremlin sent regrets.
But I was at my happiest
(though I'd have never said it)
No more burning midnight oil
to write for extra credit!
My reader must be wondering
how I made him lose his lease -
my strategy was simple:
I just let him read this piece.
When he read the corny rhyming words
and grammatical mistakes
in these hundred-twenty lines I wrote
his own life he did take.
© 2005 Lance Gallup
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