Dammit, Ma, now don't you know
We hate to find you hanging low,
Cruising the darker edges of the town,
Your numbers stalled, and buttons open down
To nearly your navel; that's no decent way
To travel, for a woman of your age.
Consider the great numbers now found sitting
On your brow, and find a way befitting,
More meet for such a gracious lady,
And stray no more to lowly dives and shady
Storefronts of the lustful, drunk and craven;
Mom, come up! And cease your misbehaving!

Anne Orphill Jeremiad, writing as Wale Oilby Scrood in
Fashions of a Broken Mind, Hardly, Makinnit, eds.,
Boston, 1890