Dorothy Parker

Braggart

The days will rally, wreathing
Their crazy tarantelle ;
And you must go on
breathing,
But I 'll be safe in hell .

Like January weather,
The years will bite and smart ,
And pull your bones together
To wrap your chattering
heart .

The pretty stuff you're made
of
Will crack and crease and
dry.
The thing you are afraid of
Will look from every eye .

You will go faltering after
The bright, imperious line ,
And split your throat on
laughter,
And burn your eyes with
brine .

You will be frail and musty
With peering , furtive head ,
Whilst I am young and lusty
Among the roaring dead .

Dorothy Parker

Frustration

If I had a shiny gun ,
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the
brains
Of the folk who give me
pains ;

Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments
pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love .

But I have no lethal weapon -
Thus does Fate our pleasure
step on !
So they still are quick and
well
Who should be, by rights , in
hell .

Dorothy Parker