String Tail by Margaret Atwood
I used to have helpfulness tacked onto me
like a fake string tail on a mangled dog.
Wag, wag, wag went my nerveless appendage:
If I give you something, will you like me?
Watch me make you happy!
Here’s a dry stick for you!
I fetched it off the ash heap.
Here’s a dead bird.
There! Aren’t I good?
Here’s a gnawed bone,
it’s my own,
I took it out of my arm.
Here’s my heart, in a little pile of vomit.
Was it my fault you were angered
by the world news? That you bad-mouthed God
and banking, and in addition the weather?
That you sulked all day and were vicious
to your mirror, and also
to the girls at checkout counters?
That you thought sex was a mess?
I did my best. Wag, wag
went my tail of string.
Have some drool and mud!
Admire my goodwill! It clings
to the soles of your boots
like soft pink melting jelly.
Here, take it with you!
Take everything, and then I’m free;
I can run away. I’m blameless.
You can have the string tail, too.
