I WAS WHAT I WAS

I was what I was to get through my life

but now that my life is almost done

I feel lonely and alone.

I now despise

my poems and my lies.

I now hate

the groin I groan for when it’s late,

the sorrow and listless wonder I feel

from the Divine Comedy or a mid-day meal.

I’m sick to death

of Rosalinda’s hair, someone else’s breath,

the decisions, the decisions, the decisions,

the stories of tragedies and prisons

I feed on with an idle eye.

I’ll be rude

if you remind me of accomplishments I didn’t include.

I’m as sarcastic as Dorothy Parker.

I resent love and all efforts to improve.

I resent the blossoms on Lark Avenue.

And yet I move!

To hell with me! I smile! I don’t die!