Category: Frustrations

Which? That seat distant half-a-mile,
And claw and bump and brush, and be
A pest, or sit here on the aisle
And let the patrons trample me?

by Ray Romine Thursday, February 28, 1952

The most persistent of the bunch,
Once you’ve selected, goes to lunch.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, July 3, 1951

They come of the snazziest stock in the land;
Their pedigree, I’m informed, fashions up grand;
Their poise almost never gets out of hand;
But they’re guilty of my pet personal hate,
For they don t turn their calendars up to date!

You can walk in their house–it’s as clean as a pin:
Everything has a place, and that place it is in;
It’s a home, you feel sure, that to heaven’s akin.
But these folks evidently aren’t sure WHEN it IS,
For the calendars quarrel like nobody’s biz!

You well knew as you entered, that August was “on”,
But one calendar tells you that snow’s on the lawn;
In the kitchen, however, the spring is just gone,
While the hallway assures you of bright autumn’s dawn.
The world is confused, so I feel, quite enough–
Folks SHOULD keep their calendars up to snuff.

A flick of the wrist serves a month, as a rule;
No special requirements, experience, or school
Are needed to cope with Pa Time’s forward drool;
But easy or difficult, some folks seem bent
On their calendars’ showing a month that is spent.

Oh they’re quite careful people–of that please be sure:
Impeccable natives; upright and heart-pure.
I’m certain they couldn’t a GOOD LIE conjure
Excepting, of course, for the ones on their walls–
That tell us that Christmas in MAY this year falls!

They’d be divine people, there isn’t a doubt
If they’d TURN ’em, or THROW all their CALENDARS OUT!!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 7, 1943

This elbow-haunter plaguing me
The while I make the mind up
Is sure to be the self-same she
Who’s elsewhere at the wind-up.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, July 3, 1951

The man with the twenty- five dollar fedora
Has it sat upon soundly by some dumb Dora.

Or the guy with the chapeau worth many a buck
Sees it blown off and pressed by a passing truck.

Whose top-piece came from the ritzy hatter
Finds it deluged with chewing gum, soup and batter.

It’s always the really exclusive lid
That’s seen by some eagle-eyed snowballing kid.

Hernce I wear my own hat with the jaunty assurance
That the price tag inside is its greatest insurance.

by Ray Romine Thursday, October 12, 1950

I get me there
While seats are good.
The wait is long;
The seat is wood.
All is serene;
The view is clear-
I shouldn’t miss
A thing from here…
The action starts:
The show is on.
The mob has moved:
The view is gone.
I change my seat;
I’ll try again…
The mob decides
To stand up then.
I sit back, sigh
In blind submission,
And see again!–
(It’s intermission).
To this conclusion
I am led:
The show was fine-
Somebody said.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 22, 1950

Though I was bored,
I still ignored
Her “May I help you, my dear sir?”
But as I stand
With goods in hand,
I wonder what became of her??

by Ray Romine Tuesday, July 3, 1951

They come untied. I do not swear.
Nor is it that they break, but where
I am when shoestrings will be sly.
What’s fit to be tied then, is I.

by Ray Romine Thursday, September 6, 1951