"The Montagues and the Capulets" by Frederic LeightonAn Alternative Ending to Romeo and Juliet Part II by Reid McGrath The Society June 2, 2017 Culture, For Educators, Humor, Poetry, Short Stories 6 Comments Click here to read Part I. Montague (That afternoon, on the outskirts of Verona, at a Club, getting in an afternoon’s worth of pheasant shooting, having needed to get out of town and “think about things;” although presently eating peanuts and breaking at the bar… Capulet is also there.) O Capulet, you bastard, have you heard? Your daughter has popped out a little bird. I heard it through “The Grapevine” from my wife who’s been a member of that Club for life. You know the way the women gossip, Cap. I don’t know what I’m filled with. Is it sap? and sentiment. I hear my son now works in Mantua, a landscaper. He forks the soil with a hooking thing. With paint he brushes canvas, in spare time. They’re quaint, these landscapes that he recreates, the trees; he always loved the sycamores, the seas, the skies like fields of lavender and suns like oranges and lemons: fruity ones. Capulet Of course I’ve heard, you heathen; it’s a boy. My wife, as well, is of that vine, deploy your family, fellow. We will have a fête. We have to end this puerile, savage hate and get along— I guess they’re doing well. Julie, at first, I guess she cooked like hell; but now she cooks a mean pesto and fish. My wife, herself, has never cooked a dish; and though your son has always been a queer, a weirdo, an eccentric; I don’t fear that he will hurt her any longer. Yes, his paintings are top-notch; they sell, I guess, which supplements his income potting plants. It’s not a bad life wearing denim pants. Montague I totally agree; I can’t believe they named him what they named him. Let us leave for Mantua tomorrow smoke a stoge with Romeo, who once was such a rogue, conspiring with that old foge to ’nap your lovely daughter. I am sorry Cap. I hope we can get over this impasse and see the motes in our eyes too, alas! We did not do a hell of a clean job at raising kids and families. We did rob them of their Christian virtues. Neighbors love to bash their neighbors. It’s condemned above. We have to turn a new leaf. Let’s begin to start forgiving. We have lived in sin. Capulet I know; I know; I’m getting over it. I miss my pretty daughter who would sit upon my lap when she was small. I would convey to her sweet stories. Oh we should collect our wives, compose a caravan, and get to Mantua as fast as can be done succinctly, end this whole charade of feignéd ire on our parts. The rod I snap and toss. Our kids are grown adults despite the fact they jumped the córral. Colts who deigned to feign my Juliet’s demise. We put her in the grave. I cried my eyes out of their sockets. It was a sick prank; but like you’ve said, it was our fault: We stank. Lady Montague (The next morning, rather early, after Montague and Capulet have returned to Verona and have rendezvoused with their wives at a chic breakfast place.) We’ll have the fête when we return; let’s go. I cannot wait to hold my grandkid, show him off to everyone I see and meet: It is the Grandma’s job to be the seat of irksomeness and bothersome concern. She thinks her grandkid’s all there is, will burn with jealousy if there is a young tot who outdoes hers, is potty-trained, sans snot, while hers increases Huggies Wall Street stock, and doesn’t talk but only goes “bawk bawk.” So, my dear Lady Capulet, prepare to show Mercutio off everywhere… It’s forty something kilos to their flat. Pheidippides could run it. Think of that! Lady Capulet (The morning after that, having traveled thirty kilos the first day, having rested themselves and their horses at an Inn, and the final fourteen kilos the next morning, the two grandmother’s barge through the door to find the three exiled Mantuans—Romeo, Juliet, and little Mercutio—all still in bed together. Montague and Capulet follow behind the women demurely.) O! O my God! O! O my God! O! O! O! Juliet, my love! O Romeo! We’re sorry, darlings, miss you, love you, yes! (To Capulet): “Their flat is such a mess…” It’s been so long! We’ve missed you ever since— O where is he? O where’s the little prince! Please hand him over, Juliet, my love! O look at him! Just like a little dove! The peaceful lad, who’s bringing peace as well to our two families whose lives were a hell… I’ve got him, darling. Let me kiss his lip! (I can’t believe you bare your budding nip!) That’s so progressive, Jewish, peasant-like, but good for you! He is a healthy tyke! Lord Montague (Looking embarrassed, shakes Romeo’s hand, who has quickly thrown on some sweats, and the three men, including Lord Capulet, go outside on the small balcony to smoke a cigar…) Congratulations, Romeo, my son. As you must know, this hasn’t been much fun. You’ve always had an all or nothing bent. You wanted once to make your home a tent; you burned your money, went out on a trip, and when I tried to stop you, gave me lip. You’re hot; you’re cold; you’re tense; you’re lax. I love you nonetheless. I thank the Lord above. I must admit I was rather the same. I was distracted ere I found my dame. I’d exercise and go and run a mile; I’d cycle, swim, and it would make me smile. But the next week, my smiles full of sags, You’d see me idling and smoking fags. Romeo (picking the dead petals off of the potted flowers pensively and dropping them down onto the street) The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree; for here we are, smoking cigars, us three. O let us turn a new leaf in our book. Quit nagging on each other let us look at our own selves and try to change at last. I do not want to think about the past. I want to press my weight against the plow and keep on plowing. I don’t need you now. I know that we can make it on our own. Given the choice, Mantua’s now my home. I’ve bled here, sweat here; here my family is: here is my occupation. Mind your biz and I’ll mind mine. I love you still; but do please pluck the Past’s black petal it is through. Reid McGrath lives and writes in the Hudson Valley Region of New York. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. NOTE TO POETS: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. CODEC News:Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 6 Responses Kathy F. June 2, 2017 Very clever and witty, with great imagery! I look forward to reading any future installments! Reply Amy Foreman June 2, 2017 I agree with Kathy F. You should definitely keep doing these takes on Shakespeare. Maybe a whole play! Your iambic pentameter is a pleasure to read, engaging and entertaining. One of my favorite lines, quite chuckly-worthy: “We’re sorry, darlings, miss you, love you, yes! (To Capulet): “Their flat is such a mess…” This is great stuff, Reid– Reply David Watt June 4, 2017 Beautifully written piece making clever use of the vernacular. Reminiscent of C.J. Dennis’ style in an Australian comical take on Romeo and Juliet from early last century, entitled “The Play.” Reply Lew Icarus Bede June 4, 2017 Mr. McGrath, this is a remarkable piece, with an interesting vantage—predominantly from the grandparents’ points of view, in which you neatly capture generational tension. The diction is snappy and rich, “Pheidippides could run it. Think of that.” Your humour, like that of C. J. Dennis, is Falstaffian. David Watt’s critical observation is brilliant. “The Play” is an extr’ordinary poem. Both McGrath now and Dennis then, a century ago, handle iambic pentametre couplets with consummate skill. I’m also very much impressed with the stanzaic form Dennis used in “The Play,” the fourth line dimetre contrast with the iambic pentametres. I look forward to more work from Mr. McGrath and David Watt as well. Reply Reid McGrath June 6, 2017 Thank you all for your kind words. I have not read “The Play” but I will certainly look into it as soon as possible. Perhaps there will be more adaptations in the future. Reply Bob McGinness June 6, 2017 I love it! the iambic pentameter the now and then if you do a third one I’d read the first two again! Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.