The American Way Of Life
She walked along the cliff of good;
Below her was the sea of sin.
She stopped and wondered if she would,
Then swayed, and paused, and dove right in.
Her name was, well, it hardly mattered;
She looked like, well, like you
Or me, or all the other scattered
Friendless peoples in this stew.
Voltaire made bulbs and Locke made keys,
While morals were confined to fable.
Yes, she’d heard of Socrates,
But life was really mink and sable.
Poor girl!
– Please, don’t fight
-I simply had to have that hat.
-No, not Ed Sullivan tonight.
-Please dear, yes dear, oh no, not that.
-Now dear, why do you grump and gripe?
-Your bills? I know. I can’t construe it.
-Of course I’ll go and fill your pipe.
-That poor, poor girl, why did she do it?
Home was normal, (or as normal
As we think normal to be),
Life as formal or informal
As we think a life should be.
Above are words she might have heard.
Her folks were average man and wife.
Seems normal, but it lacked the girder
That holds bridges up in strife.
“That’s no problem”, you may claim.
“Bad blood, so she deserves her stigma.”
Ah, my friends, you are to blame.
With that I end this small enigma.
©
The American Way Of Life 1952Definitely Didactic; Our Times, Our Culture;
Arlene Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry 