POEM

THE BALLAD OF MARY JANE

His mother had been lenient. Of that there was no doubt. So lenient that young Ronald became a surly lout. His school grades were atrocious. His manners even worse. He bullied smaller children. And you should hear him curse.

Then, when he was thirteen, he broke the smoking rule. A teacher caught him at it. They threw him out of school. At last his mother understood that lenience seldom pays. And she became determined to change his roughneck ways.

She said: "I'm filled with heartache by everything you do. I've found the only answer is to make a Girl of you." "Oh, no. Not that," he stammered. "You can't do that to me." "Think not?" his mother answered. "You just wait and see.'

He argued and he pleaded but his words were all in vain. And he was told that from that hour his name was Mary Jane. His horror was redoubled as she described his fate:

A rigorous course of training to kill each boyish trait.

Next day, she took him shopping for dainty, girlish clothes. Shoes and frocks and panties... wigs and bras and hose. She made him don these garments before the startled clerks. Then off to the beautician... who gave the lad the works.

By A.J.W.

By evening, "he" was gone for good and "she" was in his place With high heels on "her" pretty feet and makeup on "her" face. The furnace claimed "his" clothing. "Her" room was changed to pink. What was next, he wondered. He scarcely dared to think.

46