Lines From A Plutocratic Poetaster To A Ditch-digger

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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
  Being rich.


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
  Lucky stiff.


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.

© Franklin Pierce Adams