Poetry of Kansas

When Ma Puts Down Her Foot.

I tell, you, boys, things have to move
As fast as wheels along a groove,
          Around our little hut,
For law is law without a doubt,
And 'tis no use to snarl or pout,
          When ma puts down her foot.

My pa, you bet, just flies around,
And no grass grows upon the ground,
          Along his bee-line route,
For what she says has to be done,
And kitchen dishes ring like fun,
          When ma puts down her foot.

Poor Carlo tucks his drooping tail
Between his legs, and with a wail
          Will take a rapid shoot
For some safe place to hide away,
And won't appear for one whole day,
          When ma puts down her foot.

My sisters, too, can plainly trace
The rising tempest In her face,
          And in their terror mute,
They dare not say their souls their own,
But stand like statues made of stone,
          When ma puts down her foot.
 
The chickens even seem to know
Just when the storm begins to blow
          And off they quickly scoot,
On spreading wings and flying feet,
To some well known and safe retreat,
          When ma puts down her foot.

I tell you, boys, ma knows her "biz."
She shows this in her war-like "phiz,"
          Tho no female galoot,
Nor is she often very cross,
But all of us know who Is boss,
          When ma puts down her foot

__J. M. Cavaness.

Jayhawker Juleps
J. M. Cavaness
(Chanute: Tribune Pub. Co. 1913)
Page 15

 
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June 19, 2004 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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