(Yes, God, you rotten Roman Catholic)
To put his hypothetical conceptions
Of what a poor young poetaster would think
Into his own damned shape, and then to attack it
To his own great contemplative satisfaction.
What have I done, O God,
That so much bitterness should flop on me?
Social Reformer! That’s the beggar’s name.
He’d have me write bad novels like himself.
Yes, God, I know it’s after closing time;