My process isn’t so different,
Though terminal uniqueness would have me be.
Not so different, am I, from slaveholders, dictators, murderers, the average or above- average you.
“But for the grace of God go I”
A worthy saying.
Fettered in my own chains,
Offensive in my own lack of remembrance,
My insistence on my own comfort and my own way,
Demands and rights and prejudices so thoroughly dyed in my own wool
They’re scarcely recognizable
Practically – entirely? – unavoidable.
I watch you sometimes:
You who seem so utterly offensive
– In all your offenses –
Wonder at how you got to where you are
And how I am where I am.
Then I remember
My own unsightliness
Time frittering wastefulness
(to name but a tiny sorry few)
And wonder why you are where you are
And I am where I am
We are both in various stages