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C J Dennis - Possum
Work rating: Low

Jist `ere it gripped me, on a sudden, like a red-`ot knife.
I wus diggin` in the garden, talkin` pleasant to me wife,
   When it got me good an` solid, an` I fetches out a yell,
   An` curses soft down in me neck, an` breathes `ard fer a spell.
Then, when I tries to straighten up, it stabs me ten times worse.
I thinks per`aps I`m dyin`, an` chokes back a reel `ot curse.

"I`ve worked too fast," I tells Doreen.  "Me backbone`s runnin` `ot.
I`m sick!  I`ve got-0o, `oly wars! I dunno wot I`ve got!
   Jist `ere - Don`t touch! - jist round back `ere, a blazin` little pain.
   Is clawin` up me spinal cord an` slidin` down again."
"You come inside," she sez.  "Per`aps it`s stoopin` in the sun.
Does it `urt much?" I sez, "Oh, no; I`m `avin` lots o` fun."

Then, cooin` to me, woman-like, she pilots me inside.
It stabs me every step I takes; I thort I could `a` died.
   "There now," she sez.  "Men can`t stand pain, it`s alwus understood."
   "Stand pain?" I owls.  Then, Jumpin` Jakes!  It gits me reely good!
So I gets to bed in sections, fer it give me beans to bend,
An` shuts me eyes, an` groans again, an` jist waits fer the end.

"Now, you lie still," she orders me, "until I think wot`s best.
Per`aps `ot bran, or poultices.  You jist lie still, an` rest,"
   Rest?  `Oly Gosh! I clinched me teeth, an` clawed the bloomin` bunk;
   Fer a red-`ot poker jabbed me ev`ry time I much as wunk.
I couldn`t corf, I couldn`t move, I couldn`t git me breath.
"Look after Bill," I tells Doreen.  "I feels that… this is… death."

"Death, fiddlesticks," she laughs at me.  "You jist turn over now."
I `owls, "`Ere!  Don`t you touch me, or there`ll be a blazin` row!
   I want to die jist as I am." She sez, "Now, Bill, `ave sense.
   This `as to go on while it`s `ot." I groans, "I`ve no defence."
An` so she `as `er way wiv me.  An`, tho` I`m suff`rin` bad,
I couldn`t `elp but noticin` the gentle touch she `ad.

That ev`nin`, when the doctor come, sez `e, "Ah!  `Urtin` much?
Where is the trouble?" I sez, "Where you ain`t allowed to touch!"
   `E mauls an` prods me while I `owls to beat the bloomin` band.
   Gawbli`me!  I`d `a` cracked `im if I`d strength to lift me `and.
"Discribe yer symtims now," sez `e.  I fills meself wiv wind,
An` slung `im out a catalog while `e jist stood an` grinned.

"Ar, bar!" `e sez.  "Sciatiker!  Oh, we`ll soon `ave yeh well."
"Sciatiker?" sez I. "Yer sure yeh don`t mean Jumpin` `Ell?
   It ain`t no privit devil wiv a little jagged knife?"
   "Tut, rut," `e grins.  "You`ll soon be right. I leaves yeh to yer wife."
I looks at `er, she smiles at me, an` when I seen that smile:
"Aw, poultices!" I groans.  An` she injoys it all the while!

But I`m marri`d to a woman; an`, I gives yeh my straight tip,
It makes a man feel glad uv it when sickness gits a grip.
   `Er looks is full uv tenderness, `er ways is full uv love,
   An` `er touch is like a blessin` as she gently bends above.
`Er speech is firm, but motherin`; `er manners strict, but mild:
Yer `er `usban`, an` `er patient, an` `er little orphin child.

 
When yer marri`d to a woman an` yer feelin` well an` right;
When yer frame is full uv ginger an` yer mouth is full uv skite,
   Then yeh tork about the "missus" in an `orf`and sort uv way;
   She`s `andy in the `ouse if she don`t `ave too much to say.
But when Ole Man Sciatiker, `e does yeh up reel neat,
Then she`s yer own reel mate, she is, an` all yer `ands an` feet.

An` so Doreen, she nurses me while I lie there an` grouch;
Fer I`m snarky when I tumble that it ain`t me dyin` couch.
   I barks at `er, an` snarls at `er, an` orders `er about,
   An` nearly wears the feet orf `er wiv trottin` in an` out.
An` while Ole Man Sciatiker, `e `as me in `is sway
Doreen, she jist gives in to me - an` alwus gits `er way.

Three solid days I `as uv it, an` then the pain lets out.
I`m feelin` fit fer graft again, an` wants to git about.
   It`s then she lets me see `er `and, an` orders, "You stay there
   Until yeh gits yer `ealth an` strength to sit up in a chair."
"But there`s that stove-wood," I begins.  Sez she, "Now, don`t you fret.
I`m very sparin` wiv it, an` there`s tons an` tons there yet."

Tell yeh straight; I got to like it.  It`s a crook thing to confess,
But to `ave `er fussin` round me give me chunks uv `appiness.
   So I gits out in the garden wiv an arm-chair an` a rug,
   An` I comes the floppin` invaleed, an` makes meself reel snug.
I droops me eyes an` `angs me `ands, an` looks dead crook an` ill;
An` wriggles ev`ry time she sez, "Wot would yeh like now, Bill?"

An` then, one day, I `ears the axe down there be`ind the `ouse;
An` I sees meself a loafer, an` me conscience starts to rouse.
   I `eaves me frame out uv the chair, an` wanders down the yard.
   She`s beltin` at a knotty log, an` beltin` good an` `ard.
I grabs the axe.  "Give up," I sez.  "I ain`t no shattered wreck.
This `ere`s my job." An` then, Gawstruth! I gits it in the neck!

"Am I yer wife?" she asks me straight.  "Why can`t yeh trust me, Bill?
Am I not fit to see to things when you are weak an` ill?"
   I tries to say I`m possumin`, an` reely well an` strong;
   But ev`ry time I starts to tork she`s got me in the wrong.
"Yeh can`t deceive me, Bill," she sez.  "Yer `ealth is fur frum good.
Yeh jist can`t trust yer wife to chop a little bit uv wood!

"Yeh got to come out in the cold," she sez, "wivout yer wraps.
An` now I`ll `ave yeh on me `ands fer days wiv a relapse!"
   "I been pretending," I ixplains.  She sez, "Am I yer wife?
   Yet sooner than yeh`d trust to me yeh go an` risk yer life."
Well, I`m marri`d to a woman, an` - it might seem sort uv meek –
 goes back into bed again… an` `ates it… fer a week!
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