Donnie DeMonie Finds His Pulse

A Poem-Story

Old Donnie DeMonie worked at his company selling computers all day.

His face and his heart had gotten so numb, dulled even more by the rum.

Tired of life he returned to his wife, only to find her gone.

It was the fourth time that fortnight, and old Donnie knew, that something was not right.

Curious to see what it could be that was keeping her out so late,

He sat with a sneer, cracked open a beer, and began growing irate.

Mrs. DeMonie walked in with a din, drunk and aware of her sin.

"Good evening honey," said Mr. DeMonie, waiting to hear where she'd been.

"Oh! Hello dear!" she exclaimed in fear, and gazed at his piercing leer.

"I know that you're cheating" he said with a wink, "I've noticed you're whoring around."

"I-it's not what you think," she said as she took of her mink, "we were just walking through town."

He laughed like a rat, said "tit for tat", stepped forward and took hold of her throat.

In the midst of the throttle, he smashed open his bottle and began driving straight through her coat.

When he was done the blood covered the rug, and he sat there feeling quite smug.

Then petite little Patty walked into the room, rubbing her eyes in the gloom.

Little Miss Patty asked, "what's wrong daddy?" Quite unaware of her doom.

"Why, nothing princess, now go back to bed," he waved her away, both hands tinted in red.

He felt so elated and no longer sedated. Killing made him feel so alive.

Old Donnie DeMonie let our a roar, he would  murder some more, he was hooked on the gore.

He needed his fix, he cold no longer wait, and poor little Patty was next on his plate.

Then Donnie DeMonie killed twelve of his neighbors, sparing those to whom he owed favors.

When morning came he ran for the train in search for a quiet new town.

Killing was his nourishment and he'd never repent, for it kept him from needing to frown.

He'd rather rot before being caught, for if he were he'd never survive.

He ran around murdering new victims daily, and he'd never felt quite so alive.

He spent years in a trance, a victim to chance, but now that's been proven all false.

For Donnie DeMonie, who kills people like bunnies, has finally been given a pulse.

 

Reviews

[Allen Smuckler]

You know what JtS...I loved this...kinda limerickal but with an edge
A little Dylanesque (take your choice) but still savagely original..the story, the flow, the erratic yet symbolic rhyme...the beat and rhythm of the poem just made me smile that devilish grin..
excellent write, John
allen