Pitchers

Oh, the photographer’s art is a wonderful thing
You sit on a bench while he pulls the string.
You’ve got a cramp in your neck and a pain in your liver
And your right eye develops a miserable shiver.
You think of an Aunt who died long ago
And weep for the loss of your childhood beau.
Your hair comes uncurled on the side of your head
And your nose gets all puffy and lumpy and red.

There’s a snap and a rustle—the thing has been “did”;
In the camera your likeness is carefully hid.
When you see the result you immediately faint
And declare most emphatic you “positively aint”
Gonna pay for such junk—and there it all ends
When you order six dozen to give to your friends!

Jean L. Allen, Camera Craft, vol. 34 no. 4 (April 1927) p. 168.