Petty revenge: oh, what an easy thrill!
You can’t expect renunciation there
Of such as me. Spittle, not blood, will spill
When I enact my scheme. “No fair! No fair!”
The mark will sputter. I’ll decline to care—
Except that, in my heart, I’ll crow: “Oh, yes!”
To such slight depths, quite plausibly, I dare
Descend. I celebrate as I confess.
Conscience objects, of course, but nonetheless
I move ahead, enchanted with the mission
I have assigned myself: the neatest mess
Ever conceived! High pride is superstition
And lofty thought an empty ampersand.
God help you if my petty mind grows grand!