I am ready
In the months of my confinement
Not preparing for labor or delivery
Except of these jottings
Undemanding of the care required for a human infant
But yet objects of loving attention
I have resolved
Promised
Vowed
Committed
Pleaded
And dreaded
To renounce the sickly confessional mode
A bearded heavy man in his mid-sixties
In a Little Lord Fauntleroy suit
With a giant all-day sucker
And a lily on his round lapel
I’m sorry mommie
Or perhaps I’m thorry
But
My friend the philosopher once said of me that
Self-loathing speaks well of a person
And it never fails to surprise me
That the many friends whom I love so strongly
Exhibit such poor taste in their choice of friend
But
We can well castigate a poor character
We can acknowledge wrongdoing
We can insist that a responsible person own his mistakes great and little
But
None of this requires or even permits
Disrespect toward any person not even oneself
I have many faults
Perhaps enough to earn for my character the grade of poor
But
Despite the Christian doctrine that one cannot redeem himself
I exercise some redeeming virtues
I have done some service in the world of people
And though ambition cannot be accounted a virtue
I have aspired to some achievement
But
Achievement in my long life has been but modest
Owing perhaps to countervailing tendencies
Self-defeating proclivities
Such as Peewee Herman meant when he said that
Everybody I know has a big but
I’d like to give an account
But