We’re disintegrating:
On guests we are waiting–
Oh surely they’ll come any minute;
An hour or over
We’ve looked each car over,
Hoping our friends would be in it.
Flo’s wearing the rug out,
She’s pacing the dug-out;
She’s fidgety, jumpy, and nervous.
She’s hither and thither;
She pauses a-dither
At the lunch she’s been hoping to serve us.
And as it gets later
Her tension is greater;
She fusses the lamp-shades and flowers.
She bounces, she stutters,
She prances and flutters,
As the minutes grow slowly to hours.
She re-does her make-up,
Gives curtains a shake-up;
She changes her gum and her lip-stick;
She straightens the fixtures,
Including the pictures,
And journeys a frantic elliptic.
“Oh how can we teach them–
What lesson would reach them,
Demonstrating inertia is folly?
The brain seems submitting
This thought as befitting:
We’ll serve them their breakfast”–how jolly!
by Ray Romine Friday, August 20, 1943
