Part 4 (2/2)

Not . . . Mr. Moto!

Salad Bar

There's nothing sadder in this world Than stale stuffed celery, over-curled!

In The Swim

O to be a Petty gal Now that summer's here, With thigh and breast and tawny crest And slick and stream-lined ”rear”

To lounge against the gilded sands As in a billboard ad While some Adonis, thick of neck, A great athletic cad Leans over one with tender sigh And whispers soft and low ”The Company who made your suit Designed these trunks, you know”!

Adversary

She stuck her little hat pin in And gave a practiced twist.

The only thing that saves my pride On someone with a tougher hide She'll break her little wrist!

Traitor

You said my face Was like a mask A little white unstirred expanse Where no emotion came to dance.

You said my eyes were secret eyes That wore a mocking shy disguise.

You said, ”No matter how you try Your mouth betrays you, by and by?”

Sheepskin

An education used to be A thing of strict gentility With Cla.s.sics solid as a rock And stresses laid on culture talk.

Now . . . when he graduates - a man Must just make money with elan!

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