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With A Little Carrot Might Be Done!

There are those who’ll tell you that only two things in this world are sure–death and taxes;
But I’ve just had all my teeth pulled, above and below, and I’ve discovered something that that hard and fast rule sort of kills, or at least relaxes:

For if you ask me if I have a time, now, getting food enough in the stomach, you’re certainly humming:
I really don’t know for sure if I’m going or gumming!

Naturally I can sort of half-mangle a soft-solid, such as
a strawberry,
Or maybe even a potato, if it’s not raw very.

Take my advice, and don’t ever pick the summer-time to have your teeth out,
For, in winter, there aren’t so many good things to eat
lying around to have to do weethoutl

Please regard me as anything but boasting here,
When I say it’s tough to be without teeth in the season of the roasting-ear.

It’s hard to get your mind on even the war, with its Nazi-bombin’ and Jap-shellin’,
When you’d give anything Just to have a tooth to sink to the hilt in a Juicy watermelon.

You simply can’t imagine what teeth mean to the human system
Until you’ve mystem.

But, to get back to that other sure thing besides death and taxes, be it goodish or baddish–
I regard it as quite positive that you cannot GUM:a RADISH!

by Ray Romine Saturday, June 19, 1943

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Who Knows What May Develop?

When I was told that exercise
Might lift me from the rut,
I used the common alibis:
Well…, Maybe, If, and But.
Still, take up sports I did, and I’m
Convinced now that who must
Stick tightly to their alibis
Do not wear out–they rust.

by Ray Romine Monday, April 23, 1951

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While Sitting In The Dentist’s Waiting-room

The guy who does upholstering
This chair has never seen:
It’s a sort of pre-conditioner
For WORSE one, what I mean!

A magazine is on my lap,
Passe as Dodo-feed;
But no one cares how old it is–
We just PRETEND to read.

My hands are somewhat sweaty;
I tremble and I shake;
I’ll bet that Harvard’s seismograph
Will register my quake!

I sort of wish I might have shaved;
A pretty chick’s across–
But then I sense she’s pretty sure
That I’m a total loss.

I hope that guy he has inside
Takes doctor all the night–
And yet, he’d better get to me
Before I die of fright!

What’s happened to that tooth that gave
Me heck from dusk to dawn?
For now that I’m up here, I find
The pain is less–IT’S GONE!

finis–(mine!)

Well, here I am–I’m in the chair.
No matter what he does,
It can’t be half as painful
As that AWFUL WAITING WAS!

(and actually (all but
one verse) written in
Doc Kissell’s waitingroom

by Ray Romine Saturday, November 20, 1943

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Untitled

“Scientists from the Universities ot Minnesota and North Dakota
are conducting experiments whioh raise the suspicion that
cockroaohes are carriers ot the infantile paralysis virus .”
…News item

The rat, the mosquito, the fly,
Have nibbled at us on the sly.
But now comes to poach
The quite lowly roach-
We humans, I guess, satisfy.

by Ray Romine Friday, November 3, 1950

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The Doctor And I

“Exercise is good for you,”
Or so the Doctor,used to say;
But if he’d look me over good,
I bet he’d change his tune today.

“Walk outdoors a lot, my son”;
So then I went to toting mail;
And if the cure I need is walking,
This should dood it, without fail.

“Walking helps your posture, lad–
‘Twill straighten those round shoulders.”
(But Doc our mail sacks never saw–
They aren’t figure-moulders.)

“Walking does things to you, boy”–
Right you are, dear Doc, this time.
The KIND of things it does, I fear,
I couldn’t fit in any rhyme!

“Of course, you mustn’t OVERDO!”
Oh, he meant IN MODERATION!!
And here am I with this job stuck–
Applesauce and botheration!

“Oh, no–don’t OVER-EXERCISE.”
O.K., that suits ME–I’M no balker;
But sell that idea, if you can,
To the *P.M.G., one Frank C. Walker!

*Post Master General

by Ray Romine Saturday, June 19, 1943

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Take It Easy, Now

“It’s REST for you,”
The doctor spoke;
But no can do,
I’m nearly broke.

I got it then.
The Doc knew best:
He took my ten–
I have the rest!
[or]
And I’ve the rest!

by Ray Romine Monday, June 18, 1951

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Sick-room Light

A Square of hollow sickly light
Shines yellowly upon the night
To frame, through cracked and unwashed
Such minor tragedies that pass
As he whose drunken furtive stealth
Apologizes for his health.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 16, 1952