I offer my sincere apologies to Mr. James Russell Lowell for this rather drastic take on his lovely poem, “What is So Rare as a Day in June?” Since the poem has three verses, my “parody” will come in three parts. Today, Part One. But I will begin with Mr. Lowell’s first verse:
And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there’s never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature’s palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o’errun
With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
Now, my version:
And what is so rare as this day in June?
This day of all imperfect days;
When my old dental bridge failed me too soon,
While under it a new-formed abscess lays;
E’en though I brush and floss ’til teeth glisten
I hear the dentist – I’m forced to listen;
Every nerve feels a stir of fright,
An instinct within me screeches and cowers,
And, closing my eyes to the dentist’s light
I try to summon magic powers
The clink of cash can well be seen
As my dentist his take he tallies;
The invoice startles, my face grown green,
An emesis basin catches my gut’s malice.
But there’s ne’er been a pick nor a drill too mean
To fill some happy dentist’s palace;
I am stopped at the door before I can run
Full tilt like a run-away gang of thieves,
That got all its loot by wielding a gun
But I can’t escape before he receives!
My mate feels our nest egg beneath his wings,
Then waves it goodbye as he mournfully sings;
He moans his sad song, and I lose my zest,
Will our only way out be a knife in my breast?
Stay tuned for Part Two. What will the poor dentally-challenged woman do? Will she end her life in a feeble and inadequate attempt to pay her dental fees? Or, will she find some clever way to barter herself for the dentist’s services. . .hmmm. Like I said, stay tuned! For now, this is definitely enough. . .