"Factory Windows Are Always Broken"

Heather read me this poem today, from an anthology I picked up at the local resale shop. It's by Vachel Lindsay.

Factory windows are always broken.
Somebody's always throwing bricks,
Somebody's always heaving cinders,
Playing ugly Yahoo tricks.

Factory windows are always broken.
Other windows are let alone.
No one throws through chapel-window
The bitter, snarling derisive stone.

Factory windows are always broken.
Something or other is going wrong.
Something is rotten—I think, in Denmark.
End of the factory-window song.

Reminds me of something else Heather said to me recently, coming in from the fields: "I don't want to work by the hour. It's demeaning."