The Coming Woman

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.

Source: She Wields a Pen: American Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century (University of Iowa Press, 1997)