Yesterday I went to a place where many die of hunger –
Coffin-like chambers to behold;
My foot tripped over a step
On an unaccounted-for floor!
It must have been a miracle – a miracle indeed,
That I grabbed a rotten beam . . .
(A nail was there, as on the arms
Of the cross! . . .) – I escaped unharmed! –
But I continued with half a heart – no more –
Of mirth? . . . merely a trace!
I skirted, like a cattle mart, a horde;
I’m sick of this world’s disgrace . . .
Today I must visit the Baroness,
Who elegantly entertains,
Stretched on a satin chaise longue –
What? I’ll tell her . . .
. . . A mirror will crack,
Candelabras make a wry face at realism,
And painted parrots
On the plafond – as it is long –
From beak to beak will cry: “Socialism!”
Therefore – I’ll sit, hat in hand
Then set it down – – and return home
Like a taciturn Pharisee
– When the party’s done.