One dim December afternoon,
All muddled, sore, and spent,
I sought my quiet, private room
To chase away my gloom. I went.

I unwrapped my little green cigar
And laid me in the tub;
The bath ran hot, the door ajar—
'Twas better than the Country Club.

A trance-like state came over me;
The water boiled me red.
The pungent smoke curled wild and free,
While sweat poured from my head.

Then such a fright my eyes did meet:
A fuzzy thing came through the door.
It squiggled on ten thousand feet
And clicked itself across the floor.

I jumped and bumped my woozy head
In startled, shocked surprise,
And stared upon the thing in dread
And wished it from my eyes.

But fixing me with cunning gaze,
It spoke in courtly tone:
"Good Sir, what is it in my ways
That renders me unknown?

"Is it because I own these feet,
Some ten-thousand plus, or more?
Or that, by right of claim complete,
I've every right upon your floor?

"You look at me as folks look down
On mud, or crumbs, or mould;
Yet you sit pink and naked-crowned
And think yourself pure gold.

"You squash my kind without remorse,
As if I'm just a fly or roach;
You feed on fear like your main course,
On truths you will not broach.

"For what is wretched? Answer, please.
Is wretched what is small?
Or what comes in to shoot the breeze
And does not knock at all?

"If wretched things deserve the brush,
Then reason must conclude:
Your fear, your temper, and your rush
Are wretched things, my Dude."

At this, I glanced toward the john,
The brush behind the tank;
While still the creature lectured on,
I planned to kill the crank.

It saw the purpose in my arm
And smiled with wounded pride:
"To prove me right, you mean me harm—
How very well supplied!"

I answered, calm and cool, at last,
To squeeze a word in edgewise:
"I think your logic runs too fast;
You're only here to chastise!"

It stopped right then and said no more—
For I struck it, hard and true.
Its hundred pieces strewed the floor;
I did what killers do.

But left a stain upon the tile
To chide me, day and night:
Though something may be vile,
Don't quash it when it's right.