My Revamped Forty Whacks Poem

[dalcanton]

Hello - four years ago, I posted a poem I created about Lizzie Borden. I recently dusted it off & make some revisions. I'd like to post it again. I hope everyone enjoys it!

FORTY WHACKS

Hatchet blade, dripping gore
Ma & Pa are no more
Hide it well, hide it good
Break the handle, burn the wood

Did you plan it, this evil deed?
Was it years of rage mixed with greed?
Or did it happen - just like that?
Spur of the moment - like Abby's cat?

Johnnycakes and rancid old meat
Bad blood still lingered over Ferry Street
But was Swansea farm the very last straw?
Is that why she got a hatchet in the craw?

Swung at Abby, let her feel the whack
Unknowing victim of a surprise attack
Frenzied blows fueled by hate
Chop after chop sealed Abby’s fate

Calming down, you hid the dress
In the kitchen cupboard or old clothes press
Then basted a loop & sewed on a button
Can't take another day of spoiled mutton

Heated the flats, sprinkled the cloth
No prussic acid for a seal skin moth?
Just passing time without a care
Next victim comes home, you laugh on the stair

A sale at Sargent's can't be beat!
While the butchery continues on Second Street
Daddy lie down, you need some rest
Trust your daughter cause she knows best

Close your eyes, you’ll soon be dead
Do you sense something raised above your head?
Blood spurting on the walls & door
Why stop at 10 when you can hack once more?

First the sow, now the father
They’ll never believe it was the daughter
Clean up the mess, fold the Prince Albert coat
Call down the maid, invent Abby’s note

Shout up the stairs, raise the alarm!
With luck they'll think it was Uncle John!
"Maggie come quick, Mr. Borden is dead!"
Someone came in & smashed in his head

"Oh, Mrs. Churchill, do come over!"
Put down your groceries and please stop over
"Where was I? Why, eating pears in a hot barn."
Sinkers or screens - will they buy that yarn?

Rummaging for tin up in a dusty loft
Did you kill your parents just for Maplecroft?
Abby's been found between the bureau and bed
Thick congealed blood pooled around her head

Then, Russell asks, "Is there another?"
"I must correct you sir, she’s not my mother!"
Get two sheets, cover the horror
You shed no tears cause there was no sorrow

Who could explain this? Dr. Bowen sure can't
Though he knows bromo caffeine will control the rant
Your hands were clean, no blood on your face
Not a strand of your hair was out of place

Second trip to the cellar by lantern light
Why did you sneak down there alone at night?
It wasn’t too long before suspicions arose
And thoughts so chilling that every heart froze

Accused of murder, such a masculine crime
How did she clean up the blood? There was no time!
The trial was long – hot, sultry days
Newspapers captured the courtroom craze

The public hungered, eager for press
Salivating over a burned paint-stained dress
"Can't trust a word he says, that Eli Bence!"
"It wasn't me who wanted poison for just ten cents!"

The ending neared & you were asked to speak
So with trembling hands & knees so weak
You claimed your innocence in a defiant way
Leaving it to your counsel to have its say

When the jury returned, murmurs grew loud
Tense excitement buzzed through the crowd
Not guilty! said the foreman with a wrinkled brow
But they still didn’t know the who or the how

At first, you were treated to a cheerful cry
Friends surrounded you, emotions ran high
Yet when it died down, doubt crept in
Public opinion said you committed this sin

So you lived out your life up on the hill
Content at first thanks to your father’s will
Yet as time went by, you were shunned
Did it cross your mind - what had you really won?

Years of loneliness, your own home a jail
Well at least indoor plumbing beat an old slop pail
Then before you knew it, you were growing old
But fingers still pointed, stares rigidly cold

As your hair turned gray and your body became frail
A legend was cemented from this tragic tale
People saw you & whispered, "There she is!"
"She killed her parents – oh, yes she did!"

Rumors ran wild and not just for murder
Two paintings stolen from Tilden-Thurber
Kids skipped rope & immortalized your name
Did you secretly relish this morbid fame?

For thirty-odd years you had time to muse
Was it really worth it? To give Abby her dues?
Then it was over and your heart beat its last
But folklore would never relinquish your past

How could you have known when you swung that axe
Over a hundred years later we’d still be debating the facts?
Poor Abby and Andrew - like lambs to the slaughter
While you became Fall River's most infamous daughter

[twinsrwe]

WOW, Dalcanton, that is very good!!! I'm impressed, and I truly enjoyed it! Kudos to you!

[debbiediablo]

Love your rhyme, the crime, that gruesome story,
Murder still unsolved and forever gory!

Thank you dalanton