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Idylls of the Skillet Fork cover

Idylls of the Skillet Fork

Chapter 14: XII The Katydid
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About This Book

A lively sequence of rural poems and sketches portrays daily life in a small farming community, blending comic dialect pieces and affectionate nature scenes. Recurring voices such as Bill and Laury relay homespun observations on chores, animals, local gossip, bootlegging, hunts, seasonal change, and wartime worries, while bird songs and landscape detail evoke both springtime abundance and drought. The collection alternates playful mischief with quieter melancholy, offering short vignettes that balance folksy humor, communal rituals, and reflective notes on labor and loss.

XII
The Katydid

Skeeters pest’rin’,
Bites a-fest’rin’,
Merc’ry ninety-four;
Feelin’ groggy,
Piller soggy,
Makes me tur’bel sore.
Rollin’, groanin’,
Tossin’, moanin’,
Hotter ’n eggs a-fryin’;
Houn’ dawg yellin’,
Jack-ass hellin’,
Little Willy cryin’.
Nerves a-tingle;
Ev’ry single
Nightish critter tootin’;
Hosses champin’,
Cattle stampin’,
Even stars a-shootin’!
Air is deader
Than a medder
Whar they’s be’n a fire
East all smoky,
Moon-rise poky—
Julluk out o’ mire.
Night’s a horrer;
Like ter borrer
Bill’s ol’ “make-’em-peep;”
Shoot the dam things
So’s ter ca’m things—
Git fi’ minnits’ sleep.
Nature’s planned it
Tho, ’n’ I’ll stand it—
’Cept one thing, by hellum!
That’s thet rawcus
Hoppin’ jaw-cuss
Out on yender ellum.
Pesky thing
Doosn’t sing;
Line o’ talk
’S jist a squawk.
Rubs its wings an’
Thinks it sings an’
Knocks my wits
All ter bits;
Never quits
Throwin’ fits
All the night
Till it’s light;
No beseechin’
Stops its screechin’;
Filin’ saws,
Grindin’ jaws,
Windin’ clocks,
Gratin’ locks—
’S music ’side
That ’ar snide!
Change yer toon, yew
Mis’bel loon, yew!
Mos’ly threes;
Shift it, please!
“She did!
She hid
Her lid,
She did!”
Now ’e’s say’n’
Threes again:
“Yes she did,
Yes she did,
Yes she, yes she,
Yes she did!”
Gosh a’ mity,
I’m mos’ flighty.
Insect ass,
Scrapin’ brass,
Co’se I know
She done so.
Now yew kill her.
(Hang this piller!)
Thar, thet’s better;
Hope yew’ve let ’er
Die the death;
Save yer breath,
Mornin’s here,
Breakfas’ near.

Durn ’er hide,
Katy’s died!