A reptile crawls along the squalid street, Fantastic in a caricature of fog. A naked wind prowls in man's last retreat, Whimpering like a sick and cowered dog. The slimy portent twitches, squirms in pain, Its eyes dark hollow jets of baleful light. The hunger-passion sears each nerve and vein; Its jaws hide death; its skin and bones draw tight. An ominous rattle slithers through the gloom: A banker in his limousine rides high. He has a mistress in a golden room, And other lovely toys that riches buy. The empty-bellied thing stirs with dislike, Its filthy head upreared as if to strike! |