It would be very convenient now
to kneel down in the gritty sand
and beat my chest
and rend my garments
and cry out: “Why me, O Lord?”
It would be an admirable thing to do
if it weren’t for the refrain
running beneath it all:
“Do you see me now, Lord?
Aren’t I just wonderful!”
Until, just like the worst
of all the best of us
I, too, am ambushed
before I have made
my last prayer.