The Final Elegy

I see your fate as my brother’s was,

as mine might have been--

actions furthered by weakness,

unworthy of notice.

That you find drama in your self-pity is unremarkable:

through a glass, refracted light makes a fine mirror;

a movie lens never focuses on the soiled sheets.

I can forgive you all but submission

that is only vanity, only exhaustion.

I’ll write you off with this pledge--

fifty dollars for the funeral fund,

these eighty words for the elegy