By Mary Weston Fordham

Just look, ’tis quarter past six, love—   
   And not even the fires are caught;
Well, you know I must be at the office—   
   But, as usual, the breakfast ’ll be late.

Now hurry and wake up the children;
   And dress them as fast as you can;
‘Poor dearies,’ I know they’ll be tardy,
   Dear me, ‘what a slow, poky man!’

Have the tenderloin broiled nice and juicy—   
   Have the toast browned and buttered all right;
And be sure you settle the coffee:
   Be sure that the silver is bright.

When ready, just run up and call me—
   At eight, to the office I go,
Lest poverty, grim, should o’ertake us—   
   ‘’Tis bread and butter,’ you know.

The bottom from stocks may fall out,
   My bonds may get below par;
Then surely, I seldom could spare you
   A nickel, to buy a cigar.

All ready? Now, while I am eating,
   Just bring up my wheel to the door;
Then wash up the dishes; and, mind now,
   Have dinner promptly at four;

For tonight is our Woman’s Convention,
   And I am to speak first, you know—
The men veto us in private,
   But in public they shout, ‘That’s so.’

So ‘by-by’ – In case of a rap, love,
   Before opening the door, you must look;
O! how could a civilized woman
   Exist, without a man cook.

• Relationships
• Social Commentaries

Poet Bio

Little is known about the life of poet Mary Weston Fordham. A free person of color from a relatively affluent family, she bravely ran her own school during the Civil War and was hired in 1865 as a teacher by the American Missionary Association. She taught during Reconstruction at the Saxon School in Charleston, South Carolina. Her poetry contains references to family and to the deaths of several children in infancy and displays an ease with meter and rhyme in lyrical explorations of historical, spiritual, and domestic themes. See More By This Poet

More By This Poet

More Poems about Relationships

More Poems about Social Commentaries