Thing’s Inside

Thing’s Inside.
160.1

My papa is a doctor man,
An’ that is how he knows
Each little thing inside of me,
An’ how it runs an’ goes.
Ho tells me I have whizzin’ wheels
Inside my head that spin-
I ast him onet t’ tell me how
Th’ buzzin’ wheels got in.

He put his finger in my mouth:
“Why, here’s a tiny door !”
An’ then he tweaked my nose, an’ said:
“An’ here’s a couple more;
An’ here’s a little music-box-
It’s full of cogs an’ wheels,
An’ every time you give a squeeze
It opens up an’ squeals!”

One day my papa saw me bolt
A great big chunk of ‘tater:
“Look out 1” he cried, “you’ll overtax
Your little elevator!”
“What’s that?” I ast. “Oh, that,” said he,
“Is jest a little dummy
That carries everything you eat
Clear down into your tummy!”

I’m full of springs, jest like a clock,
An’ when I start t’ play,
My papa looks at me, an’ sex:
“You’re all wound up to-day !”
But onct, when I was sick, he said:
“Let’s quit th’ stuffy town,
An’ move out t’ th’ country house –
Th’ boy is all run down I”

Then, ’cause he couldn’t wind me up
Ag’in, without a key,
He fed me castor-oil-t’ grease
Th’ cogs an’ wheels in me.
I don’t see how a little boy
Not very high or wide
Can carry ’round th’ awful load
Of things he’s got inside!
-Atoysis Coll