Lines from a Plutocratic Poetaster to a Ditch-digger
Sullen, grimy, labouring person,
As I passed you in my car,
I could sense your muffled curse on
It and me and my cigar;
And though mute your malediction,
I could feel it on my head,
As in countless works of fiction
I have read.
Envy of mine obvious leisure
Seemed to green your glittering eye;
Hate for mine apparent pleasure
Filled you as I motored by.
You who had to dig for three, four
Hours in that unpleasant ditch,
Loathed, despised, and hated me for
And you cursed me into Hades
As you envied me that ride
With the loveliest of ladies
Sitting at my dexter side;
And your wish, or your idea,
Was to hurl us off some cliff.
I could see that you thought me a
If you came to the decision,
As my car you mutely cussed,
That allottment and division
Are indecently unjust—
Labouring man, however came you
Thus to think the world awry,
I should be the last to blame you …
So do I.