"Jolly Jane" (National Poetry Month Poem-A-Day) Day 4
written by Bruce A.
Pandolfo
4/4/17
Taunton
Lunatic Asylum for psychotic patients,
Toppan,
“Jolly” Jane, do not mistake her awful plain
commonplace
innocuous, aged image for soft and safe,
She's
got insane deadly habits, devil's advocate, God she played
arrived
here after she offed the Davis' at their Cape Cod estate
She's
admittedly authored the death of more than thirty by inoculation
Boston
training at Cambridge aimed at a nursing education,
her
opiate experimentation lead to disqualification
she
left the eve of her graduation never received certification
I'll
review my scattered statements to ascertain what the case is
...
The
horror born Honora Kelley to an alcoholic father
“Kelley
The Crack” pot, wack-job, I had jotted “may be the fodder”,
A
tailor, the tale goes tried to sew his eyelids closed, lost it,
lost
mother to the illness she's fraught with though she fought it
with
no support the kids went to an orphanage, impoverished
Honora
and her sister found the top end Toppans, and were fostered
The
Toppans renamed her “Jane” to emulate a favorite Aunt and
she
started embracing darkness regardless of shed hardships
As her
alias implies, Jane was jovial,
Alas,
the lass applied a mask of joking tones,
Absorbing
observing the roller-coaster of the overdose
She'd
even hold them close as she drove them to the holy ghost
kiss
them and dismiss them,
finished as they finished,
finished as they finished,
sexuality rare in women
but admitted it when admitted,
but admitted it when admitted,
she
came during their exits,
came
highly recommended,
surprisingly
impressive credits
read a
testimonial that said
“Jane
sat by to the bitter end”
but
some Missus Hyde sits inside
edits
questionable ethics
with a
syringe for scythe
that
elicited/incited vile deadly injections
if
asked, Jane claims she was being empathetic,
evidence
of her psychopathy, the convenient mercy subjective
...
“Poor
them!” Jane felt she aided her prey she confessed
Warped
head, unstable, disabled, got cradled in bed,
force
fed the fey to fade all their pain dulled to rest
Sure
end, fatally playfully taken their breath.
Court
sketch gave her the label,“The Angel Of Death”
She
wonders why so many come to eye her
“how
come I earn their undesired ugly ire?”
Feeling
justified, in putting loved ones inside urns,
sometimes
adjusts her number and it jumps so high,
shrugs,
opining that she must've tried
morphine
to help at least a hundred die.
Either
way, you'd run and hide, or she'd happily snuff your life.
A
hilarious and horrendous death time planner,
Jane
surely had a most memorable bedside manner.
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