Laurah Maybelle Rickborn 1907-1935

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!