thanksgiving week, 1927

More armistice.

Went to Marge’s this evening,
where I answered a reproachful letter
received from Bill yesterday.
She walked part-way home with me.

Marge was over while I did the dishes
but left as soon as I was through
for she doesn’t like to be here
when I’m doing nightwork.

I quarrelled with Marge.

Thanksgiving. We had chicken.
Chick and I were down at Jane’s.
Haven’t seen Marge since our quarrel.
Bet she’s the first to come back.

Mother is sick in bed! Ye gods!
Dear, oh dear! The Sunday dinner
Dad and I cooked! The ham was done
to a cinder and the rest --- !

Marge came back.

Poem #29 of 30 Poems in November to benefit Center for New Americans.