Eugene Carman

Rhodes, slave! Selling shoes and gingham,         Flour and bacon, overalls, clothing, all day long         For fourteen hours a day for three hundred and thirteen days         For more than twenty years.         Saying "Yes'm" and "Yes, sir", and "Thank you"         A thousand times a day, and all for fifty dollars a month.         Living in this stinking room in the rattle-trap "Commercial."         And compelled to go to Sunday School, and to listen         To the Rev. Abner Peet one hundred and four times a year         For more than an hour at a time,         Because Thomas Rhodes ran the church         As well as the store and the bank.         So while I was tying my neck-tie that morning         I suddenly saw myself in the glass:         My hair all gray, my face like a sodden pie.         So I cursed and cursed: You damned old thing         You cowardly dog! You rotten pauper!         You Rhodes' slave! Till Roger Baughman         Thought I was having a fight with some one,         And looked through the transom just in time         To see me fall on the floor in a heap         From a broken vein in my head.