Poetry Archives

It’s mighty quiet in the house
     Since Mary Ellen quit me cold;
I’ve swept the hearth and fed the mouse
     That’s getting fat and overbold.
I’ve bought a pig’s foot for the pot
     And soon I’ll set the fire alight;
Then I may eat or I may not,
     Depends upon my appetite.

Since Mary Ellen left me lone
     I haven’t earned a bloody bob.
I sit and sigh, and mope and moan,
     And bellyache I quit my job.
My money’s mostly gone,—I think
     I ought to save it up for food . . .
But no, I’ll blow it in for drink,
     Then do a bunk for good.

I watch my mouse his whiskers preen;
     He watches me with wicked glee.
Today—oh God! It’s years sixteen
     Since Mary Ellen wed with me.
Oh how the dear girl hated vermin!
     She left rat poison on the shelf . . .
Friend Mouse, your doom I new determine
     Then—how about myself?