In Other Words/Christmas Cards

by Franklin P. Adams

Layout 2

 

 

Christmas Cards

Being the songs of an old Scrooge

I. TO A JANITOR

Native of Sweden or Norway,
 Tyrant of terrible type,
Standing around in the doorway,
 Smoking a miserable pipe—

Thou who refusest to steam up,
 Thou who denyest me heat,
Thou who wilt not send my cream up,
 Thou who purloinest my meat—

Father of infants whose weeping
 All through the perilous night
Loudly inhibits my sleeping—
 Read, if thou canst, what I write:

Why, at this holiday season,
 Should I drop into the slot
Money? There isn’t a reason;
 Therefore, old chap, I shall not.

II. TO A STENOGRAPHER

Person feminine of gender,
 Pounding at the lettered keys,
Think you that I should surrender
Tribute, be it ne’er so slender?
 Lithe and listen, please:

You who, chafing at your fetters,
 Say you “Do not have to work,”
Queen of pompadoured coquetters
How you hate to take my letters!
 How you love to shirk!

You who take two hours for luncheon—
 Cake and soda, as it seems,
Being all that make your nuncheon,
While all afternoon you munch on
 Callow chocolate creams.

Typist, it is truth I’m telling—
 Pardon mine insurgency—
But, O maid at work rebelling,
Scorner of the rules of spelling,
 Not a cent from me!

III. TO AN ELEVATOR BOY

You leave me waiting on my floor,
 Although I press the button hard.
Day after day do you ignore
This bard.

I walk downstairs; a tiresome task
 For one aweary, worn and old.
And now at Christmas-time you ask
For gold!

Shall I a good cigar deny
 Myself? A quarter? Make your lot
A bit more bearable? Well, I
Guess not!

IV. TO A COOK

Foreign genius culinary,
 Proud but inefficient cook,
Gretchen, Olga, Hulda, Mary,
Look:

Haply thou expect’st a present
 As the smallest of thy dues,
Hearken! Thou shalt hear unpleasant
News.

Hast thou ever tried to study
 What my palate might allure?
Dost thou make the coffee muddy?
Sure.

Though I like a peeled tomato,
 Do I get it thataway?
Do I get a baked potato?
Nay.

Though I like my steak the rarest,
 Red as the Milwaukee bricks,
Thy results but prove thou carest
Nix.

Therefore let this be the burden
 Of this bit of deathless dope:
Dost thou get a Christmas guerdon?
Nope!