Rebuttal to an Altruistic Poem

I received a poem of sorts on WhatsApp today and composed an Objectivist AnCap sort of rebuttal to it.

First the poem and introductory message ...

What a  hard hitting poem. ...

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Sometimes in the dark of the night 

I visit my conscience  

To see if  it is still breathing 

For its dying a slow death

Every day.

When I pay for a meal in a fancy place 

An amount which is perhaps the monthly income 

Of the guard who holds the door open

And quickly I shrug away that thought

It dies a little 

When I buy vegetables from the vendor 

And his son "chhotu" smilingly weighs the potatoes 

Chhotu, a small child, who should be studying at school 

 I look the other way

It dies a little.

When I am decked up in a designer dress

A dress that cost a bomb 

And I see a woman at the crossing

In tatters,trying unsuccessfully to save her dignity 

And I immediately  roll up my window

It dies a little 

When I buy expensive gifts for my children 

On return,  I see half clad children 

With empty stomach and hungry eyes 

Selling toys at red light 

I try to salve my conscience by buying some, yet

It dies a little 

When my sick  maid sends her daughter to work 

Making her bunk school 

I know I should tell her to go back 

But I look at the loaded sink and dirty dishes 

And I tell myself that is just for a couple of days 

It dies a little 

When I hear about a rape

or a murder of a child,

I feel sad, yet a little thankful that it's not my child

I can not  look at myself  in the mirror

It dies a little 

When people fight over caste creed and religion

I feel hurt and helpless

I tell  myself that my country is going to the dogs

I blame the corrupt politicians 

Absolving myself of all responsibilities 

It dies a little 

When my city is choked

Breathing is dangerous  in the smog ridden metropolis

I take my car to work daily 

Not taking  the metro,not trying car pool 

One car won't make a difference, I think 

It dies a little 

So when in the dark of the night

I visit my conscience 

And find it still breathing 

I am surprised 

For, with my own hands 

Daily, bit by bit, I kill it, I bury it.

And now my rebuttal to it ...

Socialist Poem (Most likely New York Democrat) ...

When I pay for a meal in a fancy place I employ more people than I would if I ate a simple one

The high price of the meal is what makes the guard's salary affordable.

When I buy vegetables from the vendor 

And his son "chhotu" smilingly weighs the potatoes 

Chhotu, a small child, who learns more about real life (especially Arithmetic and Economics) than the future social justice snowflakes studying at their Ivy League schools

When I buy expensive gifts for my children I employ people who work in the toy industry

I see half clad children who could have worked had it not been for the socialist anti-child labour laws

With empty stomach and hungry eyes because the government regulates everything and doesn't allow people to economically transact freely in the market

Selling toys at red light because their employer would be arrested if she hired them at her shop where they could work safely.

When my sick  maid sends her daughter to work , Making her bunk school , she made her own choice of hiring cheaper labour instead of paying a substitute to cover for her for that day. I know if I tell her to go back I will have to hire someone else to do the dishes or do it myself taking time away from a higher paying task that I am doing or that I or someone who likes me has earned money for in the past to spend on my relaxation now.  If I pay my maid despite that , it means I am working to pay my maid for relaxing, which makes me her slave. And I am not anyone's slave - least of all that of a socialist who wants to manipulate my conscience. Let the maid's daughter also earn her way through life. There is nothing lost in dignity by working for money you earn honestly even if it is cleaning a loaded sink of dirty dishes.

When I hear about a rape or a murder of a child, I feel sad, yet a little thankful that it's not my child but I can look myself in the mirror because I do not condone such behaviour and believe that everyone has the right to bear arms and use them in self defense.

When people fight over caste creed and religion, they are usually doing it to get what they want through force - either directly by themselves or indirectly through the violent entity known as the government instead of peacefully negotiating and respecting each other's privte property rights. I feel hurt and helpless when people vote away their power to socialists because democracy is just socialism in slow motion and socialism in turn is just mob rule in slow motion. 

I tell  myself that my country is going to the dogs

I blame the corrupt politicians because I forget the words of Frederic Bastiat — 'The state is that great fiction by which everyone tries to live at the expense of everyone else.'

When my city is choked because of zoning laws put in place by government bureaucrats who want to wield power just for its own sake or because they think they are know-it-all gods or for the bribes or for all of it, Breathing becomes dangerous  in the smog ridden metropolis

I take my car to work daily for this reason.

Not taking  the metro,not trying car pool because I like my privacy and I can afford it because I have earned it with my work in the past.

So when in the dark of the night

I visit my conscience 

And find it still breathing happy and alive 

I am surprised that others don't understand how they are being taken for a ride by those who worship the false God of government