phenomenon have developed a disturbing knack; They sit forwards and look back, While others to whom their vertebrae are dearer Sit backwards and gaze on the fleeting landscape through a mirror. But no matter what they describe Their accounts never jibe. When I eventually establish my Universal Travel Service and Guide Ways I shall advise all my clients who really want to see anything just to sit at home and look sideways. , ? , - , , , - . , , , , - . , ? , , , , . - , , . ( ), -, , , . , , , , , , . , , , , . , . , , " ", , , - , - . GET UP, FELLOWS, IT'S TIME TO GO TO BED It's more than logical, it's biological, To be lethargikal, And contrariwise it's abecedarian, or childishly alphabetic, That it's ridiculous to be energetic. Welcome, lassitude! Scram, vivacitude! Up with the grasshopper and the sluggard! Away with the ant and the bee and all individualists whether puny or ruggard! Before our ancestors were apes they were fish, But they improved their condition and got to be human beings and founded a lot of empires such as the ancient Persian and Roman and the contemporary Brish, But the ocean today with us would be brimming If our ancestors hadn't had sense enough to stop all that continuous swimming, Whereas now we can ride up and down in elevators and go to the movies, and fish are only something about which some people say, ?Yum yum, right put of the water and fried to a delicate golden, brown", And the only reason the fish aren't eating the people in- stead of the people eating the fish is that fish can't do two things that have got people where they are, they can't close their eyes and they can't sit down. , , , . - , . ! . , ! , , . , , , , , , . , , . - , - , : "-! ! ". , , , , , , : . WE DON'T NEED TO LEAVE YET, DO WE? OR, YES WE DO One kind of person when catching a train always wants to allow an hour to cover the ten-block trip to the terminus, And the other kind looks at them as if they were verminous, And the second kind says that five minutes is plenty and will even leave one minute over for buying the tickets, And the first kind looks at them as if they had cerebral rickets. One kind when theater-bound sups lightly at six and hastens off to the play, And indeed I know one such person who is so such that it frequently arrives in time for the last act of the matinee, And the other kind sits down at eight to a meal that is positively sumptuous, Observing cynically that an eight-thirty curtain never rises till eight-forty, an observation which is less cynical than bumptious. And what the first kind, sitting uncomfortably in the waiting room while the train is made up in the yards, can never understand, Is the injustice of the second kind's reaching their scat just as the train moves out, just as they had planned, And what the second kind cannot understand as they stumble over the first kind's feel just as the footlights flash on at last Is that the first kind doesn't feel the least bit foolish at having entered the theater before the cast. Oh, the first kind always wants to start now and the second kind always wants to tarry, Which wouldn't make any difference, except that each other is what they always marry. , ? , ! , . , , , , . , , - . , , . . , , , , , . , , , , ,- , , . , , , , , , , , . , , , . . THE TURTLE The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks Which practically conceal its sex. I think it clever of the turtle In such a fix to be so fertile. . ! - ? THE STRANGE CASE OF MR. ORMANTUDE'S BRIDE Once there was a bridegroom named Mr. Ormantude whose intentions were hard to disparage, Because he intended to make his a happy marriage, And he succeeded for going on fifty years, During which he was in marital bliss up to his ears. His wife's days and nights were enjoyable Because he catered to every foible; He went around humming hymns And anticipating her whims. Many a fine bit of repartee died on his lips Lest it throw her anecdotes into eclipse; He was always silent when his cause was meritorious, And he never engaged in argument unless sure he was so obviously wrong that she couldn't help emerging victorious, And always when in her vicinity He was careful to make allowances for her femininity; Were she snappish, he was sweetish, And of understanding her he made a fetish. Everybody said his chances of celebrating his golden wedding looked good, But on his golden wedding eve he was competently poisoned by his wife who could no longer stand being perpetually understood. , , . , , . , . , . , , , . , , , , . , , - . : , . , , , , , , . THE PEOPLE UPSTAIRS The people upstairs all practice ballet. Their living room is a bowling alley. Their bedroom is full of conducted tours. Their radio is louder than yours. They celebrate week-ends all the week. When they take a shower, your ceilings leak. They try to get their parties to mix By supplying their guests with Pogo sticks, And when their orgy at last abates, They go to the bathroom on roller skates. I might love the people upstairs wondrous If instead of above us, they just lived under us. , , . . . - , - . , . , , . - . . , , , , - . , ! . ! , , : ! - -, -, , . , ! . , , . , , , , , , , , . , , , . , , , , , . , , , - --, ? ." , - . , . 1- , , . , ! , , , , , , , ! . SWEET DREAMS I wonder as into bed I creep What it feels like to fall asleep. I've told myself stories, I've counted sheep, But I'm always asleep when I fall asleep. Tonight my eyes I will open keep, And I'll stay awake till I fall asleep, Then I'll know what it feels like to fall asleep, Asleep, Asleeep, Asleeeep... , , . ? , . , . , , . . , , ... THE TERMITE Some primal termite knocked on wood And tasted it, and found it good, And that is why your Cousin May Fell through the parlor floor today. , . . I'M SURE SHE SAID SIX-THIRTY One of the hardest explanations to be found Is an explanation for just standing around. Anyone just standing around looks pretty sinister, Even a minister; Consider then the plight of the criminal, Who lacks even the protective coloration of a hyminal, And as just standing around is any good criminal's practically daily stint, I wish to proffer a hint. Arc you, sir, a masher who blushes as he loiters, Do you stammer to passers-by that you are merely expecting a street-car, or a dispatch from Reuter's? Or perhaps you are a safeblower engaged in casing a joint; Can you look the patrolman in the eye or do you forget all the savoir-faire you ever loint? Suppose you are a shoplifter awaiting an opportunity to lift a shop, Or simply a novice with a length of lead pipe killing time in a dark alley pending the arrival of a wealthy fop, Well, should any official ask you why you are just standing around, Do you wish you could simply sink into the ground? My dear sir, do not be embarrassed, do not reach for your gun or your knife, Remember the password, which, uttered in a tone of quiet despair, is the explanation of anyone's standing around anywhere at any hour for any length of time: ?I'm waiting for my wife". 6.30 , . , . , , , . , , , , - , , . . , , , , , , ? , , , ? , , , , ? , , - , , , , . : " ?!", , - , ? ! , , , , , . , , : " , !" - - . THE SNIFFLE In spite of her sniffle, Isabel's chiffle. Some girls with a sniffle Would be weepy and tiffle; They would look awful, Like a rained-n waffle, But Isabel's chiffle In spite of her sniffle. Her nose is more red With a cold in her head, But then, to be sure, Her eyes are bluer. Some girls with a snuffle, Their tempers are uffle, But when Isabel's snivelly She's snivelly civilly. And when she is snuffly She's perfectly luffly. , - ! . - . "-" "-", , . . , , . . . . . I BURN MONEY The song about the happy-go-lucky fellow who hasn't time to be a millionaire strikes me as pretty funny, Because I am pretty happy-go-lucky myself but it isn't lack of time that keeps me from being a millionaire, it's lack of money, But if anybody has a million that they're through with it Well, I know what I'd like to do with it. My first acquisition would not be a lot of Old Masters or first editions or palatial palaces, No, it would be to supply each of my pairs of pants with its own set of gallowses. I can also think of another extravagance with which to startle all beholders Which is an attendant with no other duties than to apply antisunburn lotion to that vulnerable spot you can't get at yourself either by reaching over or under your shoulders. My next goal is one to reach which I should probably have to sink into debt, But it would be worth it because it is the development of a short, hot, harsh, quick-burning, full-of-nicotine cigarette. A million dollars could also be well spent in hiring some- body to invent some better rhymes for wife than rife and knife and strife, But I think what I would really do if I had a million would be to buy a million dollars' worth of books written by me and then besides having a lot of good books I could sit back and live on the royalties for the rest of my life. , , , , , , . , ! , , . , ! ? . . - . , , , . , ? , , . , , , , - . ? , , , , , . , , ?? , ??, ??, ??, , . , , , , , , , . GLOSSINA MORSITANS, OR, THE TSETSE A Glossina morsitans bit rich Aunt Betsy. Tsk tsk, tsetse. - ! ! - . THE KITTEN The trouble with a kitten is THAT Eventually it becomes a CAT. , . THE KITTEN The trouble with a kitten is THAT Eventually it becomes a CAT. . . - ! . . , . , - , . , - ! , , . , , . . - , . ?! . , . - . , - , , ! , . SUPPOSE HE THREW IT IN YOUR FACE Please don't anybody ask me to decide anything, I do not know a nut from a meg, Or which came first, the lady or the tiger, or which came next, the chicken or the egg. It takes a man of vision To make a decision, And my every memory Is far too dilemmary. I am, alas, to be reckoned With the shortstop who can't decide whether to throw to first or second, Nor can Idecide whether to put, except after c, E before i, or i before e. But where this twilight mind really goes into eclipse Is in the matter of tips. I stand stricken before the triple doom, Whether, and How Much, and Whom. Tell me, which is more unpleasant, The look from him who is superior to a tip and gets it,or from him who isn't and doesn't? I had rather be discovered playing with my toes in the Boston Aquarium Than decide wrongly about an honorarium. Oh, to dwell forever amid Utopian scenery Where hotels and restaurants and service stations are operated by antippable unoffendable machinery. ,  , - , , - , - . , . - . , , , , , . , -, , ? , , . : ? ? ? , , , , , , , ? , - . , , , . REFLEXIONS ON ICE-BREAKING Candy is dandy But liquor is quicker. - ! - . LIKE A RAT IN A TRAP After various guesses at last I've guessed Why in spring I feel depressed. When the robins begin to play Summer is just a step away. Then hardly the summer has commenced When autumn is what you're up against, And once the autumn has muscled in on you Winter is waiting to begin on you. So spring isn't spring, but otherwise, Just a prelude to winter, which I despise. - , - . . - . , , . . , , . . - . , - ! . YOU AND ME AND P.B. SHELLEY What is life? Life is stepping down a step or sitting in a chair, And it isn't there. Life is not having been told that the man has just waxed the floor, It is pulling doors marked PUSH and pushing doors marked PULL and not noticing notices which say PLEASE USE OTHER DOOR. Life is an Easter Parade In which you whisper, ?No darling if it's a boy we'll name him after your father!" into the ear of an astonished stranger because the lady you thought was walking beside you has stopped to gaze into a window full of radishes and hot malted lemonade. It is when you diagnose a sore throat as an unprepared geography lesson and send your child weeping to school only to be returned an hour later covered with spots that are indubitably genuine, It is a concert with a trombone soloist filling in for Yehudi Menuhin. Were it not for frustration and humiliation I suppose (he human race would get ideas above its station. Somebody once described Shelley as a beautiful and ineffective angel beating his luminous wings against the void in vain, Which is certainly describing with might and main, But probably means that we are all brothers under our pelts, And Shelley went around pulling doors marked PUSH and pushing doors marked PULL just like everybody else. , ? - , . . - , , " " " " , , , . - , : "! , " - , , , ( ) . , , ( ). , . , ! , . - , , . . , - , " " " ", , .  ,  ! - . ? , . , , , . , , . , , . , , . , , , . , ( ). - ? , , , , - . , , , . , , , . , - , . : , . , , ? , . THE LOUSE Robert Burns, that gifted souse, Kindly immortalized the louse, Who probably won't, when he is master. Immortalize this poetaster. . . , , ! . , , . , - - , . , . . , , , , - , - . , , , , . , , . , , . , , . , , . , - . ! , , , , , . , , , , , , , . , , , , , . , ? , , - , : . , , , , - , , . , , , . , , , , , - ! - - , . , , , . , , , , , , : . , , - . , , . , , , . , . , , , . - ?? , , , . , , . , , , , , , . SO THAT'S WHO I REMIND ME OF When I consider men of golden talents, I'm delighted, in my introverted way, To discover, as I'm drawing up the balance, How much we have in common, I and they. Like Burns, I have a weakness for the bottle, Like Shakespeare, little Latin and less Greek; I bite my fingernails like Aristotle; Like Thackeray, I have a snobbish streak. I'm afflicted with the vanity of Byron, I've inherited the spitefulness of Pope; Like Petrarch, I'm a sucker for a siren, Like Milton, I've a tendency to mope. My spelling is suggestive of a Chaucer; Like Johnson, well, I do not wish to die (I also drink my coffee from the saucer); And if Goldsmith was a parrot, so am I. Like Villon, 1 have debits by the carload, Like Swinburne, I'm afraid I need a nurse; By my dicing is Christopher out-Marlowed, And I dream as much as Coleridge, only worse. In comparison with men of golden talents, I am all a man of talent ought to be; I resemble every genius in his vice, however heinous Yet I write so much like me. , , , . , ! - . , , . - . - . - . , . , ( !). , , . , . - . -- , . , , . , . , - . , , . - , . , . - , .