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Man with a Broom
Why should you hold your hands cupped
that I may drop into them
my arrogant gift
without deigning to defile myself?
You are a man, aren’t you,
fawning there before me,
mouthing the words
you think I want to hear,
bowing your turban
lower, lower, lower.
Stand up on your two feet,
lift your head to the sky,
knock the hated pittance out of my hand
and look me in the eye!