Stranger's Revenge

He came one day to the village green

And rented a cottage there,

The village gossips said, ‘have you seen

That guy with the flame red hair?

We know he’s up to some evil scheme

He wouldn’t be up to good,

He goes inside and he’s rarely seen,

He’s bad for the neighbourhood.’

He never went out to work at a job,

They didn’t know how he lived,

He always had funds at the supermart,

‘He must be a crook,’ they believed.

One of them pushed through his letterbox

A message to curdle his fear,

‘Your kind isn’t wanted,’ the message read,

‘So why do you want to live here?’

They hung a bad omen up over his door,

Threw rocks through a window-pane,

Left his milk bottles smashed on the floor,

And did it again and again,

He never seemed flustered or worried at all,

But wandered abroad with a grin,

They thought he set fire to the village hall,

But never could prove it was him.

Then girls were beginning to knock at his door,

And he began letting them in,

They’d stay there for hours, but none could recall

Why tattoos were found on their skin.

For each had a number, embellished in red

And nobody knew what it meant,

The higher the number the shorter the skirt

The answer, it seemed evident.

The mothers, they gathered then, out in the street

And cried ‘leave our daughters alone!

Stop tattooing numbers on arms and on feet,’

The neighbours would hear them all moan.

But he would ignore them and lock himself in,

The guy with the flaming red hair,

He’d not venture out till the dark had set in,

And scattered the women out there.

The night came that fathers, with cudgels and belts,

Came down on the house on the green,

‘Come out, take your medicine, bruises and welts,

We know all your crimes are obscene.’

They tried to set fire to the front of his porch

To drive him out into the street,

But he had escaped by the light of his torch

And the silent pit-pat of his feet.

He should have been able to seek his revenge

On this village of trivial minds,

But he was content in the time he had spent

With the daughters of them at the time.

For long after all had forgotten their angst

At that stranger who’d angered them there,

Some seventeen daughters, the pride of the town

Gave birth to a tribe with red hair.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Tony Jordan]

So many Ginge jokes come to mind but I will not seek to incur the wrath of the redshanks.
Great piece DLP.

[Kathy Van Kurin]

David Lewis Paget,
Well......this is pretty creative I think!? You are endowed with quite the imagination and able to get it all on paper. Fun to read story I must say. Red Hair a plenty! Blessings Kathy

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Another riveting tale, David.

[Tom]

Ha..he who laughs last, laughs loudest!

An exhilarating tale with a virile message !

[Coyote Poetry]

17 children. A active and potent man. A very good tale described in the poem my friend. I did like the ending. Thank you for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[Dark Empress]

Love this, great read and great ending

[D Connolly]

HAHA! That is some sweet revenge! I love it

[Valentine]

Oh what an ending. A complete surprise that cracked me up laughing. A pretty neat write. Guess he tattooed then by number so he did not have any repeat visitors. Good to see your mind and pen working again. Valentine