I love Spoon River Anthology, and having some of my favorite stage performers and others speak from beyond the grave seemed like a neat idea. I don't know any of the mechanics of poetry, so this will no doubt be wrong in so many ways.
I am a man accursed.
Brothers and sisters were whisked away from sickness.
My father died stark mad.
Molly Devlin was mine for but a few tender years.
I wed the demented McVicker woman,
and found Hell visited upon me.
She lingered, far too long.
My brother slew a saint.
What was left to me?
A daughter beyond compare,
And a company of old friends.
A closet of old coats, ready to wear
and comfortably worn:
Richard, Othello, Richelieu, Hamlet, Brutus.
Grand and Tragic men all.
What a joke:
that a spindly bastard son from Maryland could make continents weep.
How shocked they would be to know I found glad escape
in the tirades, the overwrought grief.
Shakespeare wrote my turmoil better than I ever could.