Poems (Rice)/Out to Board

by Maria Theresa Rice

OUT TO BOARD.

YOU'RE very kind me to invite,
 My friend, with you to dine;
I could not be so impolite
 This kindness to decline;
I really cannot well afford
Not to accept—I am out to board.

The first night of our change, you know,
 I threw myself upon my bed,
White dress enveloped all aglow,
 Remember you now what I said?
How buoyantly my spirit soared,
That I, at last, was out to board.

Our landlady, good in her way,
 Aye she endeavors hard to make
Some money, and I think we pay
 A heap to her, and no mistake;
Economy—O ain't we gored.
At our house—we're out to board.

I really never knew before,
 Not by sad experience,
How to save every scrap and core,
 To make of these a hash or mince;
This mixture I have oft ignored,
Must eat it now—I'm out to board.

The old cracked bell is rung and rung
 To call us where the rations wait;
Not dainties such as Blot has sung
 Find we upon our dinner plate;
Professor, aye, he would be floored
Should he, like me, go out to board.

Our rooms are furnished in the style
 That often such apartments are;
But these our stomachs won't beguile
 With a table at low par;
Could home to me but be restored,
I'd never more go out to board.

I therefore now accept, and wish
 You'd not, my friend, before me sit
A single rich, nutritious dish,
 Unless you'd deal it bit by bit;
My system is so weak and lowered—
For six months I've been out to board.