The Coming Woman Poem by Mary Weston Fordham

Just look, 'tis a 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 to-night 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.