There’s my things
drying in the corner:
that blue skirt
joined to the grey shirt—
I’m sick of trouble!
Lift the covers
if you want me
and you’ll see
the rest of my clothes—
though it would be cold
lying with nothing on!
I won’t work
and I’ve got no cash.
What are you going to do
about it?
—and no jewelry
(the crazy fools)
But I’ve my two eyes
and a smooth face
and here’s this! look!
it’s high!
There’s brains and blood
in there—
my name’s Robitza!
Corsets
can go to the devil—
and drawers along with them!
What do I care!
My two boys?
—they’re keen!
Let the rich lady
care for them—
they’ll beat the school
or
let them go to the gutter—
that ends trouble.
This house is empty
isn’t it?
Then it’s mine
because I need it.
Oh, I won’t starve
while there’s the Bible
to make them feed me.
Try to help me
if you want trouble
or leave me alone—
that ends trouble.
The county physician
is a damned fool
and you
can go to hell!
You could have closed the door
when you came in;
do it when you go out.
I’m tired.