The Objection To Being Stepped On

At the end of the row

I stepped on the toe

Of an unemployed hoe.

It rose in offense

And struck me a blow

In the seat of my sense.

It wasn't to blame

But I called it a name.

And I must say it dealt

Me a blow that I felt

Like a malice prepense.

You may call me a fool,

But was there a rule

The weapon should be

Turned into a tool?

And what do we see?

The first tool I step on

Turned into a weapon.