Richard Cory Redux

My homage, in more modern times, to the classical poem by Edward Arlington Robinson.

Go here for the original.

RICHARD CORY REDUX

Whenever Tommy Johnson went up town

Haughty in high brick homes glared down at him

No gentleman he, not from sole to crown,

Half starving, preternaturally thin.

Poor was he, poor he’d been, poor would remain,

Alone, fam’ly gone, left to his own wit.

Even we at life’s edge felt his pain,
And yet … to that he would never admit.

Then one weekend, six numbers matched his list,

The dream of each and all of us come true.

The state had millions to fulfill his bliss;

Dear old TJ would be a bit less blue.

No more Tommy Johnson went up town;

Twas Thomas now, whether you please or not.

Imperially robed from sole to crown,

Without a care, even without a thought.

And he was now so flashily displayed,
Somehow he seemed less human when he talked;
Duded like a crosstown pimp, all us said,
Yet too inept to swagger when he walked.

Rich? Yes, with all his wealth could buy, and yet,

Each new monthly dollar meant yet less taste

But without fear, without regret or fret;

Envious, we wished we were in his place.

Christmas neared, and he fancied he wished

Peace on earth to all, good will to men,

And from the fullness of his heart he fished

Dimes for Santa to briefly pause his bell-din.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
Went without heat, wishing old Tommy dead;
Then our quondam friend, one cold winter night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head. 

— With a nod to Edwin Arlington Robinson