ELEGY.(Poem)

 
   Contempt is the luxury of a future, 
   resentment the past locked in a safe. 
   When I'm lost I pray to myself 
   for the lack of anyone else to pray to, 
   Lord don't let me be less than I am: 
 
   although I often am and am sorry for it-- 
   the pettinesses where a generosity 
   might have mattered or the small 
   angers against another's weakness, 
   the blindnesses, always the blindnesses-- 
 
   and you were often spiteful, though perhaps 
   you just assumed it didn't hurt me. 
   It's too late to speak and all the pointless 
   gestures dissolve in the real drama 
   that finishes mid-sentence. Whatever 
 
   you did, ...