I'M THROUGH! Seven years I've worked at this hash counter, Stooping down five hundred times a day To shout down the dumb-waiter to Pete (That Polack never pays any attention, I can't get a thing I ask for) And spilling a line of cheerful chatter To my customers. I should think men would get tired of kidding. Those guys that are so particular, Send back their scrambled eggs for another three minutes, Must have their tomatoes on a side dish And not on the meat, Gee, I'll bet when they're home They take what comes to them And shut up about it. And I'll bet that the fresh guys Who pull the jazz talk day after day Have mighty little to say at home. Men are a bunch of fakers: If I ever get one where I want him I'll make him behave. I'll bean him with a sad-iron. I'm tired of kidding the bunch. I'm tired of listening to their yap about what they like And what they don't like. Just for a change I'd like to see some one Come in here and order his lunch and eat it Without trying to be funny about it. If all this stooping wasn't so good for the figure (But, oh, my back, by six P. M.!) I'da quit long ago. Well, girls, I'm through. Next week I'm going to marry a fellow, And I don't mind telling you, I'm in luck. He works in a restrunt on Girard avenue, So he won't ever be home to meals. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 43. FAREWELL TO JULIET (5) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TO DUST RETURNING by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH MARY QUAYLE; THE CURATE'S STORY by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |