Page 44 - Poetry-Family

The Married Man

Adown the street the married man
Starts off with hurried tread,
But from the door a wifely voice
Calls, “Don’t forget the bread.”

He smiles and nods and turns to go,
The careless married man,
When loud the servant calls him—“O,
You haven’t got the can!”

He nods again, in fretful style,
But pulleth down his hat,
And lo, his sister with a smile,
Cries, “Won’t you bring my hat?”

“Oh, yes,” he shouts, and, truth to tell,
He need not shout so loud;
But shrills his son, with stunning yell,
“Theater tickets for the crowd.”

His daughter from the window high,
Estops him with a call:
She wants a fan, a pair of gloves,
A new pink parasol.

He hears no more; far down the street
His echoing footsteps fly:
And all day long, in measure fleet,
He hums “Sweet buy-and-buy.”

But when the evening respite brings,
And this day’s toil is done,
Though told to get a hundred things,
He hasn’t brought home one.

— (from a Victorian Scrap Album)

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