H e r a n d M e

by Paul West.

ER locks were the glow

Of a dollar or so,

Her height it was few if not less;

Her eyes were as gray

As the end of the play,

And she wore, so they told me, a dress.

So I said, as I came,

“If you’ll whisper your name

I’ll reply, though I’m tempted to laugh.”

But she said, “Let me see—

More and F equals three,

Which, when added, is him and a half.”

“Are you certain?” I cried,

As I breasted the tide.

“If I do,” she insisted, “say no.”

Whereupon with a frown

I invited them down,

For it never grows well in the snow.

There were more, I’ve no doubt,

But I never found out,

For the cook sent the grocer away;

But I cannot forget

That she wrote, “Do not fret,”

Though her uncle advised me to pay.

So I sit all alone,

Writing things on a stone

With a pen dipped in beeswax and lard;

Which I know I shall be

When she comes back to me,

Though at present it’s dreadfully hard.

Drawn by F. B. Masters.