My Boss

 My Boss keeps sporty girls, they say;
His belly's big with cheer.

He squanders in a single day
What I make in a year.

For I must toil with bloody sweat,
And body bent and scarred,
While my whole life-gain he could bet
Upon a single card.


By Boss is big and I am small;
I slave to keep him rich.

He'd look at me like scum and call
Me something of a bitch .
 .
 .

Ah no! he wouldn't use that phrase
To designate my mother:
Despite his high and mighty ways,
My Boss is my twin-brother.


Conceived were we in common joy
And born in common pain;
But while I was a brawny boy
My brother stole my brain.

As dumb was I as he was smart,
As blind as he could see;
And so it was, bang from the start
He got the best of me.


I'm one of many in his pay;
From him I draw my dough;
But he would fire me right away
If he should hap to know
A week ago he passed me by;
I heard his wheezing breath,
And in his pouched and blood-shot eye
I saw, stark-staring - Death.


He has his women, cards and wine;
I have my beans and bread.

But oh, the last laugh will be mine
The day I hear he's dead.

Aye, though we shared a common womb
(I gloat to think of it)
Some day I'll stand beside his tomb
And loose my glob and .
 .
 .
 spit.

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