Pride

Let all who will
Eat quietly the bread of shame.

    I cannot,
    Without complaining loud and long,
    Tasting its bitterness in my throat,
    And feeling to my very soul
    Its wrong.

    For honest work
    You proffer me poor pay.
    For honest dreams
    Your spit is in my face,
    And so my fist is clenched⁠—
    Too weak I know⁠—

    But longing to be strong
    To strike your face!