A Series of Limericks by Quinten Smith
Good ol' Addie Bundren,
she lived her life a trying.
Cash tried his best, and built a chest,
and now she lay there dying.
Simple young man Vardaman,
his mother dead, he's crying.
He made a kill, a fish made ma ill,
and now it lay there frying.
Other child Dewey Dell,
ain't got no time for crying,
Lafe she received, and then conceived,
new britches she'll soon be buying.
The family grants old Addie's last wish,
to Jefferson they'll be flying,
not plane, of course, they'll go by horse
And the family will get there trying.
Poor lone reader, the fair Quinten Smith,
dialects and popcorn narrating starts his crying,
Despite the past blue, must do Deja Vu,
And continue to read "As I Lay Dying".
I implore any sticklers of poetic meter to not crucify me. Most of that was improvised. But despite my poem, I am actually enjoying the book a tad more than when I was 16 (and yes, I literally mean just a tad). The jumping narrator and constant shifts in POV distract me, but I do admire Faulkner for his attention to character and basic plot progression. Maybe if Andrews appreciates my poetry I will regale the blogs with another one soon.
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