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C J Dennis - The Also-Ran
Work rating: Low

I know I`m dull.  I know I got a brain
   That`s only fit fer fertilizin` `air.
I don`t arst for bokays: I ain`t that vain;
   But fair is fair.
An` when yeh think yer somethin` uv a man,
It `urts to find yerself a also-ran.

`Urts like one thing.  To git sent to the pack
   When you `ave `ad idears you`re ace an` king
An` all the pitcher cards down to the jack
   Is like to sting
Yer vanity.  I thort I was some use,
An` now I`m valyid as a `umble dooce.

Don`t mind my sulks.  I s`pose I `as swelled `ead;
   But gittin` snouted ain`t wot I expeck.
Aw, they can `ave it on their own!  I`m full
   Up to the neck!
Never no more!  I chuck good works right `ere. . .
But lets start frum the start an` git it clear.

I own I used me nut.  Fer marriage brings
   Experience to stop yeh actin` rash.
I`ve missed the step before through rushin` things,
   An` come a crash.
I planned it out all careful frum the start;
Me taticks was a reel fine work uv art.

Me problem`s this: The noos `as to be broke
   Concernin` Rose.  Doreen `as to he told.
The `ow an` when that bit uv noos is spoke
   I`ve learnt uv old.
I`m shrood.  I wait. I watch me chance to act.
The trick`s to know the time an` place exact.

You blokes unmarrid ain`t got no idear
   Uv `ow successful `usbands works their `eads.
It`s like a feller strugglin` to keep clear
   A thousand threads.
Once let `em tangle, an` you take the blame.
You`re up to putty; an` yeh`ve lost the game.

I picks a nice, calm, cozy, peaceful night.
   The suppper things is washed; the kid`s in bed
(I `elped to wipe the plates) the fire burns bright;
   An` then I led
The tork around to tales uv Ginger Mick,
Cunnin` an` crafty like, an` not too quick.

"Funny," I sez, "that we should mention Mick.
   In town I met that girl - (Wot`s `er name?  Rose)
By accident.  Poor thing looks orful sick. . . .
   Well, I suppose
She `as `er worries. . . . Lost `er job, yeh know."
Doreen don`t take much int`rest.  She sez, "Oh?"

"Yes," I goes on; "a bit uv country air
   Is wot she needs.  She`s very sick - an` low.
She seemed - well - sort uv - `opeless with.... despair."
   Doreen sez, "Oh?"
It`s `eavy goin`; but I sticks it, grim.
Poor Mick!" I sez.  "I often think uv `im.

"Poor Mick!" I sez. (Well, any`ow, I mean
   Them words) "If you `ad seen that girl, my dear,
You`d arst `er up to stay." "Why," sez Doreen,
   "She`s comin` `ere
On Choosday next." (I jist choke back a shout)
"That`s why I got the spare room tidied out."

"She`s wot?" . . . I can`t say more.  "Well," sez me wife,
   "Seein` you arst `er, why all this su`prise?"
Seein` you `ad a fight, an` risked yer life,
   An` got black eyes,
An` played the `ero, as the parson says,
You ort to know.  I`ve knowed," she sez, "fer days."

Snowy!  To think that parson cove would go
   An` let me down to flounder in the mud,
An` scheme, an` lie, an` work the game reel low,
   To come a thud!
"Yeh mean to say," I arsts, mad as can be,
"Yeh`ve fixed all this without consultin` me?

"Yeh mean to say I `ave n`t got the right
   To know wot`s goin` on in my own `ouse?
Yeh mean to say -- "There, Bill," she sez, "keep quite.
   Why should you rouse?
You told me nothin`.  Parson wrote to me;
An` we fixed things without yer `elp," sez she.

Women!  She sits an` tells me this dead cold!
   To think I`ve worked an` worried till I`m tired,
An` squeezed me brain a treat, jist to be told
    i ain`t required!
"You was too modest, Bill, to let me `ear
About that fight," she sez.  "Now, were n`t you, dear?"

Modest?  Aw, well. I s`pose I am -- a bit.
   A feller can`t go skitin` all `is days.
But, spite uv `er nice way uv takin` it,
   An` all `er praise
An` that, I got to own I`m feelin` `urt
Fer to git treated like a bit uv dirt.

Nex` mornin` I ain`t feelin` none too good:
   That snub still `urt. I potter round about;
Then go across to where `e`s choppin` wood
   To `ave it out
With Wally Free about `is thievin` cow.
But that pie-faced galoot won`t `ave a row.

I`ll `ave the lor on `im, I tells ` im straight.
   Me fence `er out?  `E`s got to fence `er in!
The lor sez that.  But all the lors I state
   Jist gits a grin.
That`s all.  `E grins a sight too much, that bloke.
Clean through the piece, I seem to be the joke.

I know I`m dull. I know me brain`s jist meant
   To nourish `air-roots.  But I `ave me pride.
An` when I toils an` frets, an` then gits sent
   To stand aside,
I know me place: I don`t need to be shown.
I`m done!  An` they can `ave it on their own.
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