Wednesday, July 8, 2009

"Poem in the American Manner," Dorthy Parker, 1922(?)

I dunno yer highfalutin' words, but here's th' way it seems
When I'm peekin' out th' winder o' my little House o' Dreams
I've been lookin' roun' this big ol' world, as bizzy as a hive,
An' I want t' tell ye, neighbor mine, it's good t' be alive.
I've ben settin' here, a-thinkin' hard, an' say, it seems t' me
That this big ol' world is jest about as good as it kin be,
With its starvin' little babies, an' its battles an' its strikes,
An' its profiteers an' hold-up men - th' dawggone little tykes!
An' its hungry men that fought fer us, that nobody employs.
An' I think, "Why shucks, we're jest a lot o' grown-up little boys!"
An' I settle back, an' light my pipe, an' reach fer Mother's hand,
An' I wouldn't swap my peace o' mind fer nothin' in the land;
Fer this world uv ours, that jest was made fer folks like me an' you
Is a purty good ol' place t' live - say neighbor, ain't it true?