Page 81 - Poetry-Romance

And oh, the things I have to eat!
Baked beans, canned pie, and pickled meat,
Egg substitutes that “can’t be beat,”
Et cetera,—salt, sour, and sweet.
Then my perennial candy treat!
At home, in shirt-waist starched and neat,
Behind two trotters on the street,
Or in the rowboat’s hinder seat,
I offer it to all I meet,
With such a candied smile!
My hair grows past belief or hope;
My pearly teeth how wide I ope!
And my complexion, by the Pope—
(Good morning! have you used my soap?)
Must stir my rival’s bile.

Just turn the leaves, and you will stare
To see the things I have to wear
(Donned with my most engaging air,
And promptly photographed with care),
Of silk, fur, feathers, wool, and hair
(Which suit, though I be dark or fair);
Skirts of the regulation “flare,”
With bindings which nor rip nor tear
(All imitations you’ll beware!);
Lace, hats, capes, corsets, underwear
(Which fit, if I am stout or spare);
Shoes, collars, shirt-waists—I declare,
They cause my brain to whirl!
But turn again, and follow me,
Assuaged by diverse melody
From box, or string, or pipe, or key.
In gay boudoir you next shall see
Me sweetly sip bouillon or tea
(All other brands are heresy!).
From your dull world, ah, let me flee,
And ever, only, always be
The Advertisement Girl!

— Dorothea Dimond (Century Magazine, 1898)

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