Poetry of Kansas

The Calendar and the Girl

        The men who sell us cheeses,
        Who deal out dope for sneezes
And those who handle corner lots and blue sky min-
              ing stock,
        Who peddle books and papers
        And lightning rods and tapers,
Are waiting now to greet us as we amble round the
              block.
 
        With faces kind and pleasant
        They hand us out a present,
A calendar to warn us how the dizzy seasons whirl,
        All filled with days and weather,
        With moons and weeks together,
And there upon the cover is the picture of a girl.
 
        Too soon are we encumbered
        With souvenirs unnumbered;
The artists vie to please us with some forty kinds of
              style.
        Some long, and some are shorter
        Some narrow___kinda sorter___
But the girl upon the cover greets us with the same
              old smile.
 
        The futurists and cubists
        And some who must be rubists,
Who wear a wisp of new mown hay within their
              tangled curls,
        Are drawing princely wages
        In quick, successive stages
By furnishing variety in calendars and girls.
 
        Fair maids with auburn tresses
        And spangles on their dresses;
Shy damsels wrapt in dimples___only this and nothing
              more;
        Sweet Janes in fuss and feather,
        'Mid snow and stormy weather,
And angels, clad in bath suits, sporting on the sandy
              shore.
 
        We like the girls___God bless 'em,
        Any way the artists dress 'em,
We gladly post their pictures in the parlor or the
              hall;
        They grace our summer kitchen,
        With face and form bewitchin',
And we want a half a dozen hanging on the bedroom
              wall.
 
        But we crave some variation
        In our scheme of decoration,
We'd like to have a calendar to hang out in the shed,
        A straw stack or a plover
        Upon the painted cover,
A forest fire or sunset, daubed in colors ruby red.
 
        Can't some one draw a smoke-stack,
        A hand car or a flapjack
A mountain or a mole hill, a sawmill or a squirrel
        To decorate those doogies
        That show how tempus fuges?
Just anything on earth except the picture of a girl.

__Albert Stroud.

 

Verdigris Valley Verse
Albert Stroud
(Coffeyville, Kansas: The Journal Press. 1917)
Pages 94-95

 
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November 15, 2002 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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