by horace p sternwall
illustrated by rhoda penmarq
doctor, am i going mad?
please be the friend i never had
tell me, are things what they seem
or are they only just a dream?
doctor, doctor, please tell me
is this life but a fantasy?
why in all the wide world free
must only i have eyes to see?
now am i afraid to sleep
lest creatures from the the swirling deep
rise up and swallow not just me
but all so-called humanity
why must i who had such faith
be now a disappearing wraith?
why must i lie in this dark room
my brain the screen of universal doom?
at the club
my grandfather soames
who made the family fortune
had difficulty getting his point across
to my grandmother emily
or to women in general
or to servants, foreigners, cab drivers, birds, cats or even dogs
but with horses and men of his own class
he got on very well indeed
when the automobile replaced the horse
he was devastated
and never really recovered
his eldest son, my cousin edmund
who had heretofore
(am i using that word correctly?)
languished in his father's shadow
became a champion race car driver
and quite the most famous
member of the family
his exploits had to be followed
in the new york times
because the transcript, of course
regarded them as unworthy of notice
i could go on in this vein for a while yet
but i fear that i am boring you
please forgive me
would you like another drink?