Cruelty
He crawled on his belly to meAs I have crawled before fate,And his brown eyes' humilityMirrored the weak life I hate.
The day had gone hard with me,And my hand held a log...How can I tell the juryI struck at myself, not the dog?
From The House Without a Door. Reprinted with permission of Kathleen Forsythe, Cogswell's literary executor. Back to Selected Poems