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More Poems By Ogden Nash
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First Child ... Second Child

First

Be it a girl, or one of the boys,
It is scarlet all over its avoirdupois,
It is red, it is boiled; could the obstetrician
Have possibly been a lobstertrician?
His degrees and credentials were hunky-dory,
But how's for an infantile inventory?
Here's the prodigy, here's the miracle!
Whether its head is oval or spherical,
You rejoice to find it has only one,
Having dreaded a two-headed daughter or son;
Here's the phenomenon all complete,
It's got two hands, it's got two feet,
Only natural, but pleasing, because
For months you have dreamed of flippers or claws.
Furthermore, it is fully equipped:
Fingers and toes with nails are tipped;
It's even got eyes, and a mouth clear cut;
When the mouth comes open the eyes go shut,
When the eyes go shut, the breath is loosed
And the presence of lungs can be deduced.
Let the rockets flash and the cannon thunder,
This child is a marvel, a matchless wonder.
A staggering child, a child astounding,
Dazzling, diaperless, dumbfounding,
Stupendous, miraculous, unsurpassed,
A child to stagger and flabbergast,
Bright as a button, sharp as a thorn,
And the only perfect one ever born.

Second

Arrived this evening at half-past nine.
Everybody is doing fine.
Is it a boy, or quite the reverse?
You can call in the morning and ask the nurse.

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The Romantic Age

This one is entering her teens,
Ripe for sentimental scenes,
Has picked a gangling unripe male,
Sees herself in a bridal veil,
Presses lips and tosses head,
Declares she's not too young to wed,
Informs you pertly you forget
Romeo and Juliet.
Do not argue, do not shout;
Remind her how that one turned out.



What Almost Every Woman Knows Sooner or Later

Husbands are things that wives have to get used to putting up with.
And with whom they breakfast with and sup with.
They interfere with the discipline of nurseries,
And forget anniversaries,
And when they have been particularly remiss
They think they can cure everything with a great big kiss,
And when you tell them about something awful they have done they just look
          unbearably patient and smile a superior smile,
And think,
Oh she'll get over it after a while.
And they always drink cocktails faster than they can assimilate them,
And if you look in their direction they act as if they were martyrs and you were trying
          to sacrifice, or immolate them,
And when it's a question of walking five miles to play golf they are very energetic but
           if it's doing anything useful around the house they are very lethargic,
And then they tell you that women are unreasonable and don't know anything about
           logic,
And they never want to get up or go to bed at the same time as you do,
And when you perform some simple common or garden rite like putting cold cream on
           your face or applying a touch of lipstick they seem to think that you are up
           to some kind of black magic like a priestess of Voodoo.
And they are brave and calm and cool and collected about the ailments of the person
           they have promised to honor and cherish,
But the minute they get a sniffle or a stomachache of their own, why you'd think
          they were about to perish,
And when you are alone with them they ignore all the minor courtesies and as for airs
           and graces, they uttlerly lack them,
But when there are a lot of people around they hand you so many chairs and
          ashtrays and sandwiches and butter you with such bowings and scrapings
           that you want to smack them.
Husbands are indeed an irritating form of life,
And yet through some quirk of Providence most of them are really very deeply
           ensconced in the affection of their wife.

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