How many errors can one person make?
Enough, it seems, to fill a poetry book
(And poetry is also a mistake).
Oh gentle reader, open it and look;
A gallery of girls Cat used to be,
Expressing plainly, though in janky verse,
Their hope, confusion and insouciancy;
Embarrassments all giving way to worse;
Stories of hiking, or plastic surgery
Or office jobs, or of this frightful dress
She wore when she was twenty; Sympathy
And ridicule and even ruthlessness
Towards her past. What does she have to lose,
As long as you find something you can use?