Share with your friends

More from Dorothy Parker

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Every year, back comes Spring,
with nasty little birds yapping
their fool heads off and the ground
all mucked up with plants.

Hollywood money isn’t money. It’s congealed snow, melts in your hand, and there you are.

It costs me never a stab or squirm
to tread by chance upon a worm
“Aha, my little dear,” I say,
“Your clan will pay me back one day.”

My land is bare of chattering folk;
the clouds are low along the ridges,
and sweet’s the air with curly smoke,
from all my burning bridges.