Category: Vanity

If my suits don’t look one-half so sporty
Now I’m 40,
What chance have I of looking nifty
After 50???

by Ray Romine Wednesday, November 16, 1949

Picture, picture on the wall,
I do not envy you at all;
Your frame’s okay, and all intact;
Your glass is hardly even cracked;
Your color’s right, no clashing, banging
With the room in which you’re hanging,
Yet, I repeat, you bring on me
Quite a mood of sympathy.
Your subject is what I decry:
The best that you can frame is I!

by Ray Romine Sunday, March 30, 1952

Unmanageable? Well, yes. Too fine?
Could be, and though I never use it,
Perhaps because my hair is mine,
I hate to lose it.

Thus proving, as my dome’s ungloved,
A cause, though lost, may still be loved.

by Ray Romine Monday, April 23, 1951

My wife gets more than somewhat fed
At time spent on her coiffured head;
Not me, for I am glad my dome
Has something there for me to comb.

by Ray Romine Monday, April 20, 1953

Please do not throw the busy bee
As an example, up to me.
So he who shows industry thrives–
I work enough; I’ve had the hives.

And then there is the sainted ant;
Admire her if you will–I can’t.
She slaves each day in rain or sun,
And someone else grabs all the fun.

This rebel correspondent begs
Your pardon–I don’t want 6 legs.
How vain, I wonder, can I be,
Who thinks the insects envy me?

by Ray Romine Friday, August 3, 1951

Whatever people think of me
Brings no concern, it’s true. They
Only cause me worry
When I have to wonder do they?

by Ray Romine Thursday, January 11, 1951

Some play, some sing, some dance, some do
Ted Lewis or Jack Horner;
But I’m the one sans talent who
Decorates a corner.

Admire these folks; applaud their jokes-
At least I’m one you needn’t coax.

by Ray Romine Saturday, August 26, 1950

How quickly, friend, you’re sating me
When you’re at work berating me;
But have no fear of boring me
So long as you’re adoring me.
With truthful praise please scatter
But, if you must, why, flatter me!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, June 12, 1951

I work, I slave, to get it lathered;
By the time I rinse, the suds have gathered.

(with [daughter] Sandra Jean)

by Ray Romine Sunday, July 29, 1951

I don’t mind the loss of time nor dough,
Nor is it the barber’s tools I’m fearing
At haircut time. What gets me, though,
Is do I or do I not need shearing?

by Ray Romine Tuesday, April 28, 1953