SHINGLE-SHORT
Well, that ain’t news? No fear! Not much!
It’s ached too often to the touch.
....Right back, at home..they next-door boys,—
“Let’s have a game with Softy’s toys.”
—An’, Teacher, yellin’ “O you fool!”
That week I’d wanted so at school:
—An’ Mother’s look, afore she died,
Me sharpenin’ scissors at her side,
An’ askin’ her why Granny cried?
—An’ since,—the curses, an’ the blows,
The sells, an’ mocks, an’ filthy jests,
An’ harder hurts, that no one knows,—
Reckon they’ve taught it past all tests.
Besides, look here, I know I’m dull!
See how I muddle things, an’ mull;
Can’t write; an’ take for somethin’ fine
Every poor feeble fake o’ mine.
....Still, though, I’ve know’d it all along,
To-night it does come extry strong.
Fire’s out; an’ lamp’s begun to stink.
Well, dark ’ll do for misery....
....I wonder what’s about the time?
Why—where’s old Clocky got to?
(Catching sight of the boat.)
....Ah-h!
....An’ goin’ to be so sublime,
Wa’n’t you? Such extry-special bliss....!
Oh, an’ I did think you was good.
—You mess! you muck, you! O you scab!
....Stickin’ there....like....a bloody crime!
Hold on! I must git out o’ this.
26
