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Laurah Maybelle Rickborn

1907-1935

Life was such a excruciating bother.
I’m happy the long drama is finished now.
My childhood consisted mostly of chores and lessons,
While my teenage years were devoted to daydreams,
Dancing, and the work I did ceaselessly,
On my parents’ modest farm on Painter Avenue.
Indeed, I acquired the dogmatic idea early in life,
That chickens are undoubtedly the filthiest creatures,
Ever created by our very creative creator.
So it was with a strange dose of personal joy,
Whenever I accosted one of our hapless chickens by its neck,
For the celebrated purpose of a quick slaughter.
Then, with speedy relish, I’d chop its beady head off;
Finally, with determined aplomb, I defeathered the thing,
As it death-spasmed still on my bloody lap.
Such are the memories I choose to remember,
As my final pathetic epitaph,
Of a life I found ultimately annoying and frustrating;
Of having to put up with arrogant selfish men,
Who smelled of cigars, whiskey and sweaty talcum;
And who desired more than a quick dance under the stars, indeed!
Of having to endure obtuse women with no life at all, except drudgery;
Simple-minded women who worked like willing slaves,
For their blow hard men-keepers; Blecch!
I wanted no part of that, thank you. 
Like I said, I’m happy the drama is finished.
Happy, deliriously so, that
My daily encounters with conceited boorish men,
Are, at last, at an end!
Brava I say, to all women who fly freely!
Fly! Fly!  Resist men!  Fly!

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