SONG OF THE DOLE

That day is coming, one week next,
When all emerge from gloom no longer vexed,
Perpetual privation wearing thin—
Now rejoice the monthly dole kicks in.

We reside the bottom of the heap,
That shaking tower of bloody-minded wealth,
Struggle over scraps of what relief,
And never mind what danger to our health.

Can we live as long as those above,
Maintain our health erect on cheaper food?
Can we survive on sugar bulk and crud?
Can we survive the ones who do us good?

We often hear such paeans to the poor,
As have so many righteous selves proclaimed,
Conditions that they made they now abhor—
Then turn again that we are all the blame!

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