The poem
Why am I so frightened To say I'm me And publicly acknowledge My small mastery? Waiting for sixty years Till the people take out the horses And draw me to the theatre With triumphant voices? I know this won't happen Until it's too late And the deed done (or not done) So I prevaricate, Egging them on and keeping Roads open (just in case) Go on! Go on and do it In my place! Giving love to get it (The only way to behave). But hated and naked Could I stand up and say Fuck off! or, Be my slave! To be in a very unfeminine Very unloving state Is the desperate need Of anyone trying to write.