First I sat on Stanton.
Then I sat on Truth.
Then I sat on Anthony.
I swear I did, in sooth.
And Stanton cried, “Lord, help me!”
As did Sojourner Truth.
But I could see that Susan B.
Was after my vermouth.
And so I grabbed my crystal glass
And rose to give a toast,
To put more distance ’tween my drink
And Susan’s sozzled ghost.
“Oh here’s to me, myself, and I,”
I said with glass held high.
But then Lucretia Mott appeared
And bit me on the thigh.
And when I sat back down again,
I straightened up my shawl,
And found there hidden on the chair
The ghost of Alice Paul.
So ever since that fateful day,
Whene’er I take a chair,
I check to see that it is free
Of spirits sitting there.