Not So Great Gatsby

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Mon 9 Dec 2013: Villanelle

 The Great Gatsby Chapter 8


Poor, ravaged bloke, money and love would drown
Fibs and guiles, a man not rightly first-rate
In his death bed Gatsby sat floating now

And so in her stars himself he had found
He knew when she whispered the words “soul-mate”
Poor, ravaged bloke, money and love would drown

He so thought his earnings would remain sound
But then bang, bang, the bullet hit his face
In his death bed Gatsby sat floating now

Too brash, Wilson’s grip trawled the trigger down
Imprisoned chum, impossible escape
Poor, ravaged bloke, money and love would drown

The butcher, stiff on the sepulchral ground
Grisly rose, you’re to fault, how foul and base
In his death bed Gatsby sat floating now

Pneumatic Tearful Bed, now Bloody Shroud
This is the Not-So-Great Gatsby’s Great Fate
Poor, ravaged bloke, money and love would drown

In his death bed Gatsby sat floating now

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