First, know what I have surrendered
To write this; a fond bed, dinner
Steaming and sounds of children
Percolating in the autumn gloom.
So much for your claim to suffering.
I am the tramp of our moment.
Striding out in borrowed shoes
And shirt, my tie aslant and spent
And you the millionaire; nursing
In your drunken hand these words
Like brandy brewing in a glass
And I stone-sober, waiting on the embankment
As you pool in the canal, fool around in your riches.