Because I Knew That I Was Not In Hell

Because I knew that I was not in Hell,
I counted days upon my Calendar
of Irish authors – Joyce...O’Casey...Synge...
Brendan Behan’s sad and pudgy smirk
marks my July. I am the only boy
inside this borstal I can help a whit:
not the proper attitude, ‘tis true.
Yet will I do the good that I can do,
before I catch the ferry to the shore.

Because I knew that I was not in Hell,
I made small talk with lovely, angry girls,
and lovely, angry women. Thus, I learned
the secret they employed from day to day,
and that I’d never master it. There’s things
I have the strength to make myself ignore,
but I am poorly suited to denial.
Yet will I do the good that I can do
before I catch the ferry to the shore.

Because I knew that I was not in Hell,
I thought and thought and thought about the things
that they should do, but did not say a word.
It's going to pain me, once I'm far away,
to hear that Plato came back from the dead
to put things right. Now, that is one of two
events I’d like to live to see – too bad.
Yet will I do the good that I can do
before I catch the ferry to the shore.

Because I knew that I was not in Hell,
I knew the voice inside my head was mine,
and not the yawp of one last deep regret
about to be incinerated. Man!
it said, you do not understand.
And while you don’t, you can’t do any good.
Man! it said, there’s much you don't accept,
and there will be no peace until you do.
Yet will I do the good that I can do
before I catch the ferry to the shore.