VII.
|
If I was grown to be a man, and you And all the others that are workin' here Was always under me, and I could clear The place to-morrow if I wanted to, I'd buy an easy chair all nice and new And get a bird to sing above your head, And let you set and rest all day, instead Of hammerin' them keys the way you do. I'd bounce that long-legged clerk and then I'd raise Your wages and move up my desk beside Where you'd be settin,' restin' there, and I'd Not care about the weather—all the days Would make me glad, and in the evenings then I'd wish't was time to start to work again. |
VIII.
|
This morning when that homely, long-legged clerk Come in he had a rose he got somewhere; He went and kind of leaned against her chair, Instead of goin' on about his work, And stood around and talked to her awhile, Because the boss was out,—and both took care To watch the door; and when he left her there He dropped the flower with a sickish smile. I snuck it from the glass of water she Had stuck it in, and tore it up and put It on the floor and smashed it with my foot, When neither him nor her was watchin' me— I'd like to rub the stem acrost his nose, And I wish they'd never be another rose. |