Category: Home Life

Her cooking knack–her battered range,
She said, was undermining it.
But I have noticed, since the change,
Her range-work’s mostly shining it!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 26, 1950

We invite you most cordially: please do attend
our housewarming. Bring pies ancl salads and meat,
For we’ve re-checked our budget, and if you unbend
We assure you the hosts will have something to eat…

by Ray Romine Tuesday, June 9, 1953

The men who bring the mail and milk
Have quite abandoned their attacks;
But bill-collectors and their ilk
Sense houses come equipped with backs.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 20, 1950

Ten years, one place,
While pretty static,
Annihilates space
And fills the attic.

To like this spot
It does behoove us-
With the Junk we’ve got,
What van could move us?

by Ray Romine Saturday, September 16, 1950

The modern plumbing in our house,
Designed for us, we think,
Was meant to feed the plumber,
And to keep his wife in mink.

by Ray Romine Thursday, October 5, 1950

Ah–here’s the season of better eating,
And over and/or under-heating

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 29, 1950

One lights one’s pipe; one takes one’s book;
One settles in one’s easy chair.
One reaches, tumbles, takes a look:
The lamp, once here, is over there.

The center-light, with bric-a-brac,
At least stayed put. I want it back.

by Ray Romine Sunday, April 30, 1950

The handy little gadget what
Adorns the wall where I am not.

by Ray Romine Thursday, June 4, 1953

As quiet, prudent people should,
We chose with care our neighborhood.
The neighbors, schools, and fire protection
All came under close inspection;
The miles from work; which streets are muddied
When it rains, were scanned and studied.
All features, pro and con, we hoped,
Were analyzed and microscoped.

But when we lay us down to sleep,
Cars go by with horns that beep;
The dogs do bark, and kiddies play-
Where were they, one inquires, all day?
And there are sounds I cannot quote
From factories we’d thought remote.
We sense another oversight
When Diesel engines blast the night.
The last straw (we are on the ropes)
That teen-age girl next door elopes.

The NEXT house, dear, that’s yours and mine,
We shall select while we’re supine.

by Ray Romine Friday, September 1, 1950

Fasten the windows, and place
The key in the box for good.
Tomorrow I leave this place,
Just as I knew I would.

The bunny she used to hug;
Her bed, and the little pink comb;
The threadbare place in the rug–
To her, at least, it was home.

God, as you carefully scan
Our efforts which total up nil,
Forgive me the tear, if you can,
Which I leave in the dust on the sill.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, March 25, 1953