Madelaine Mann

What goes around, comes around.

'Pass me my pearl handled brush, and my comb,'

She had said, as she gazed at the glass,

The child had obeyed, though he shuffled and moaned

As he pulled at his pretty pink dress.

'Be still with you, child! Learn some patience and grace,

Wipe that scowl off your face - do you hear?

Just be a good girl, and I'll powder your face,

Tie ribbons up high in your hair.'

 

The boy bit his lip, and he stared at his aunt

In the mirror; she simpered and smiled,

Her lips were so thin and so twisted in sin

Though she thought she was beauty, beguiled.

The eyes were so close, and were hooded and dark,

The cheeks were both sallow and thin,

'A little more rouge - there we are! Is your aunt

The most beautiful creature you've seen?'

 

The boy nodded then, as he knew he must do

If he wouldn't be beaten and sore,

The lash of her cane had left scars in his brain

And he just couldn't take any more.

His mother had died when her sister denied her

A telephone call in the night,

She'd wanted to call out an ambulance then,

But her sister said: 'You'll be all right!'

 

She died the next morning, and Madelaine Mann

Had dug a large hole by the tree,

She buried her sister there, in the moonlight,

Leaving Andrew, who wasn't quite three.

They lived in the country, so nobody knew

What went on in that foul looking den,

And Andrew became little Andrea soon,

Because Madelaine Mann hated men.

 

He grew up confused as he followed her rules

But he always knew something was wrong,

He pulled all the heads off the dolls as he played

And his voice couldn't carry a song.

She'd beat him whenever his needlework strayed

Showing great ugly stitches and knots,

But his mind wandered out where the mud puddles lay,

And that patch of forget-me-nots.

 

Those precious blue flowers grew under the tree

Where her sister lay, cold in the ground,

She'd smile as she passed them, her own little joke

As she turned the son's gender around;

But Andrew, he sat and he picked at the flowers

And he sat there for hours at a time,

He'd sit in a trance, then he'd dance a small dance

As if Mummy was there in his mind.

 

She dressed him in dresses, and tied up his hair

But still made him work for his keep,

He swilled out the pigs and he managed the bees,

And he grew until he was thirteen;

She schooled him at home so that nobody knew

That the girl on the farm was a 'he',

For Madelaine saw off the strangers that came

With a sign: "Private Property!'

 

She beat him whenever he stepped out of line

And he didn't dare answer her back,

He scowled and he muttered when she wasn't there,

And his thoughts were dark, merging on black.

He talked to the pigs as his moodiness grew

To the sow that he called 'Mother Sly',

And saw how voracious their appetites grew

As he poured the swill into the sty.

 

One morning she woke, and she called for him then,

When she couldn't get out of her bed,

'You must call an ambulance, Andrea dear,

I have something gone wrong in my head.'

He stood in the doorway, and shuffled, and smiled,

Then he grinned and he took off his dress;

A pair of old overalls hung in the hall,

And he put them on over his vest.

 

'Don't be silly, my girl! Don't defy me, or think

This will change anything in our lives!

You will work on the farm 'til I'm well, and I'm home...'

He just laughed, and went out to the hives.

He cut off the cord to the telephone,

And he left off from feeding the swine,

While Madelaine Mann lay remembering then

All the beatings, as fear took her mind.

 

'The ambulance, Andrea; Andrea please!'

She had shouted in vain all day long,

But Andrew himself was nowhere to be seen,

He was out somewhere else, all alone.

On the following morning he wheeled in the chair

That his mother had used, from the barn,

'We're taking a walk, dear,' Andrea said,

'I'm just going to show you our farm.'

 

He put on a suit with a hood and long gloves

And he wheeled her then, out to the tree,

The area was full of forget-me-nots,

All in bloom, and a picture to see,

But there by the tree there were three wooden hives

And the bees were there, buzzing the flowers,

He lifted each lid, then he turned and he said:

'It's so nice here; I'll give you two hours.'

 

She screamed and she struggled to get off the chair

But the stroke had disabled her mind,

Her eyes bulged in fear as the first stung her ear,

Within minutes, the woman was blind.

They crawled on her arms, on her legs and her face

And they stung and they stung to a plan,

To get the intruder to leave them alone,

But she couldn't... not Madelaine Mann!

 

When Andrew returned with the smoker, she sat

And she groaned - he was somewhat disturbed:

'I thought you'd be finished, you nasty old witch!

Well, we'll finish this soon, mark my words.'

He trundled her groaning along the dirt path

And he tipped her right into the sty;

The last thing she heard were the grunts of the young

And the munching of old 'Mother Sly.'

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Satine]

Evil witch! Playing tricks on a little boys mind but sheer bliss Auntie Mann got hers in due time! LOL...this is a wonderful piece of writing you've created! At first the length of the write seems daunting but you had me at;

"As he pulled at his pretty pink dress...."

I was hooked then and there was no turning back as the piece got only more wicked (in a good way) with each stanza...that the spinning of the story its self leaves me in awe let alone delightful verse such as;

"'You must call an ambulance, Andrea dear,
I have something gone wrong in my head.
'He stood in the doorway, and shuffled, and smiled,
Then he grinned and he took off his dress;..."

and

"And the bees were there, buzzing the flowers,
He lifted each lid, then he turned and he said:'
It's so nice here; I'll give you two hours."

Well done!

Satine

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

This is another masterpiece! You made me do a double-take with the very first stanza with, " ... As he pulled at his pretty pink dress." From then to the end, I was held captive. You never disappoint. Never!

Linda Marie

[Gandré]

What an great epic poem! I loved your execution of a narrative poem...you are very good in it!

[Rylan Batten]

your playful tempo and wording add humor to this entertainingly-morbid piece. I really enjoyed it, keep it up!

--Rylan

[Valentine]

David, how does your mind keep coming up with these amazing stories..You hold a reader captivated until the end once they have read one of them as they do not know what to expect the endingf to be..You are a really gifted man..God bless..Valentine

[Christine]

Wow, this is amazing! You are a true story teller. I can't wait to read more of your work!
~Christine :-)

[Silent Kim aka mizmetap..]

An intriguing story. Revenge is best when one knows it's coming and serves with all the trimmings. This is haunting and well written as your work is so often.

another of your great master pieces.

[Tomás Ó C..]

What an enjoyable read in your ususal janting rhyme. Poetry can be so entertaining when written well!!! Is there any truth in this story? She sounds like one of the characters from "Wolf Creek"

[Emily B]

Wicked, wicked story. Excellent.

[C.T. Bailey]

David, your imagination and creativity amaze me. The complexity, depth and detail of this piece is astounding. I just kept shaking my head in amazement and continued to read. How you dream these words of yours...I'll shall never know. Brilliant.
Todd

[yma~catherine]

I..

is this... true??

Very disturbing. Sort of Hansel and Gretel meets Mommie Dearest