Where did you come from,
lamentable quality?
Before I had a life you were
about to ruin my life.
The mystery of this stays with
me.
“Don’t brood about things,” my
elders said.
I hadn’t any other experience of
enemies from inside.
They were all from outside—big
boys
Who cursed me and hit me;
motorists; falling trees.
All these you were as bad as, yet
inside. When I spoke, you were there.
I could avoid you by singing or
acting.
I acted in school plays but was
no good at singing.
Immediately after the play you
were there again.
You ruined the cast party.
You were not a sign of
confidence.
You were not a sign of manliness.
You were stronger than good luck
and bad; you survived them both.
You were slowly edged out of my
throat by psychoanalysis
You who had been brought in, it
seems, like a hired thug
To beat up both sides and
distract them
From the main issue: oedipal
love. You were horrible!
Tell them, now that you’re back
in your thug country,
That you don’t have to be so
rough next time you’re called in
But can be milder and have the same effect—unhappiness and pain.
