THE FINAL ELEGY
I see your fate as my brother’s was,
as mine might have been—
actions furthered by weakness,
theatrics unworthy of review.
That you find diversion in
self-pity is unremarkable:
through a glass,
refracted light makes a fine mirror;
a movie lens never focuses on soiled sheets.
I can forgive you all but submission
that is only vanity, only exhaustion.
I’ll write you off with this—
fifty dollars for the funeral fund,
seventy-six words for an elegy.