First, the original.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A hollow haunted wood decree;
Where Alph, the silent river, ran,
Through caverns shadowed deep to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fetid ground
With sounds half heard were girdled round
And there were gardens lost to sinuous rills
Where never blossomed an incense-bearing tree;
And here were statues ancient as the hills,
Observing darkened spots of scenery.
But oh! that cold and windswept chasm which slanted
Down the dry hill athwart a tall grass cover
A savage place! as dreary and foreboding
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her dying lover.
Now, for my unedited silliness.
In Irving-town did Jerry Jones
A stately football stage decree;
Where Troy, the sacred Cowboy, ran,
Through tacklers numberless to man,
Down to a down called three.
One hundred yards of muddy ground
With refs and coaches were girdled round.
And there were women bright with blue and white frills
Where tight shirts shouted a cup-size “A/B”;
And here were zealots ancient as the hills,
Upholding cardboard signs for ABC.
And oh! that dear devoted girlfriend who nourished
Hate of football athwart a smiling cover!
A noble face! as eager and enchanted
As though beneath a rolling tire darn near crushed
Small aardvark waiting for its life soon over!
Copyright 2012 Amy Keeley