I was in the den getting a book out (since I had made my rounds at Go Comics) and another fell to the floor. It was Dorothy Parker’s, “What fresh hell is this?” and it opened on to this poem, and I felt I should come post it. Maybe it wont annoy most and some will appreciate it…To My DogBy Dorothy Parker
I often wonder why on earthYou rate yourself so highly;A shameless parasite from birthYou’ve lived the life of ReillyNo claims to fame distinguish you:Your talents are not many;You’re constantly unfaithful toYour better self—if any.Yet you believe, with faith profound,The world revolves around you;May I point out, it staggered ’roundFor centuries without you?
In beauty, you’re convinced you lead,While others only follow.You think you look like Wallace Reid,Or, at least, Apollo.The fatal charms with which you’re blest,You fancy, spell perfection;The notion, may I not suggest,Is open to correction?An alien streak your tail betrays;Your ears aren’t what they would be;Your mother was—forgive the phrase—No better than she should be.
One can but feel your gaietyIs somewhat over-hearty;You take it on yourself to beThe life of every party.In bearing, while little doubt sincere,You’re frankly too informal.And mentally, I sometimes fear,You’re slightly under normal.The least attention turns your brain,Repressions slip their tether;Pray your friends the nervous strainAnd pull yourself together!
You take no thought for others’ goodIn all your daily dealings,I ask you, as mother would,Where are your finer feelings?I think I’ve seldom run acrossA life so far from lawful;Your manners are a total loss,Your morals, something awful.Perhaps you’ll ask, as many do,What I endure your thrall for?‘Twas ever thus—it’s such as youThat women always fall for.