Explain Yourself!
Well…. I- I have a diagnosis, you know.
It means there’s something wrong with me… but they don’t know what.
I imagine it’s very hard for them, trying to figure that for a time or so,
every now and then.
I have a body and other physical characteristics, but I suppose that isn’t what you mean.
I mean, that hasn’t really got anything to do with ME, does it?
Sure, I have feelings, even beliefs, but they only come in for dinner or supper,
even tea,
I’d say,
Then they go merrily on their way.
They don’t need me, you know.
They’re as squalid little roommates who never pick up after themselves——
But I’m sure they must have somewhere they go on to after me.
Why else would they be in such a hurry to leave?
So that part’s difficult to account, if you’ll pardon my deficiency.
If we used that for measure, it’d be impossible to reckon how I could at all be the same thing I was as yesterday.
I suppose what does stick around is that constant state of bewilderment.
That is myself, then:
He who looks at the mess created by his cohabitants and throws up his hands
and away to the corner, usually to sulk.
Sometimes he tries to find it in a book, you know.
“Know? No.
That won’t do at all. Please begin again,
like so:
My name is Shea, and I like to play.
I like to dance, and I like to prance.
I like to sing and like silly things.
I often cry, but I really try——
I really try to do good deeds.
Tell me; what does your name mean?”