I have a crow, or bone, or something, whatever it is they pick, to pick
With a designer whose finished product I’m allergic to, if it doesn’t actually make me sick.
And I’ve held in so long, I can’t help blabbin’ it–
It concerns the guy who drew the plans for my medicine cabinet.
Now, inside, it may well enough be a work of art, with room for shaving cream, toothpaste, and mercurochrome;
Oh yes, within, it is something to which a man might conceivably hurrihome.
And it’s placed flush with the wall, too, or nearly enough so I can glibly remark:
You can negotiate safely past it, even in the dark.
The mirror on the front, outside, will disclose a goodly portion
Of my 2pleasing countenance with almost no distortion;
BUT–right there in that phrase “goodly portion” lies, as some eminent Shakespearean character said, aye, the rub–
For that is where my designing friend flubbed his dub,
Inasmuch as I appear to be wearing a wreath on my head, like a
fugitive from the Roman era,
Due to the craftsman’s having etched this aforesaid wreath firmly and irrevocably into the mera.
I suppose I should feel flattered, looking like Caesar, as Caesar was ambitious;
But I’m not the type to glide easily from my ittle bed, shave,
and dash off–only to dash back at night, eager to help the wife do the supper ditious.
And, since I am not of the steel that will not turn in the hand,
I do not like to have to gander at myself wearing a Roman wreath
Everytime I groggily shave, or even blearily brush my teeth;
But my wife has taken a fancy to the whole set-up, since she is from six inches to a foot shorter than I, so, to please her,
I’ll Just go on like this, I guess, resembling Julius Caesar
……………..
Under my breath, though, doubtlessly I’ll mutter:
“Let’s see, now, Just where, I wonder, did I mislay that most excellent glass-cutter?…….
by Ray Romine Tuesday, March 28, 1944