Occasional verse on dish washing
Ballad of the Dish Bitch, Caput II
From whence doth come that awful sound,
that screeches in my ear?
an angst-rid’n cry for miles around
is what one deaf could hear.
I travell’d up into a house
that had a bar of Oake;
a young chap cringed upon the porch:
his spirit burnt and broke.
“Lo!” I cried, as old men do,
“what causes this dismay?”
“I woke up from the night before,
and I’m ‘DISH BITCH’ today!”
“How now, you dog,” I then cried forth,
can such a thing be you?”
“I’ve not been ‘dish bitch’ for a week,
and now the worst is true.
“We draw our lots and time draws near
we lose us in her folds;
but when the hour for dishes comes
our incense turns to mold.”
“My God, young man, is it so bad,
that you appear as such?”
“Kind sir, the truth is I’ve seen worse,
and this is not so much.
Our weeks slashed by that fateful day
we’re fain to ‘void its pangs;
for whene’er it comes our way
we’re übercharged with angst.
The ‘bitch’ then wept a bitter tear,
and spoke a fiendish speech.
I know not whether to print it here
or keep it far from reach.
The danger of his words is such
that young ones should not hear;
such agèd wisdom in their minds
would turn their bliss to fear.