This poem features a dead relationship and accountability. Sometimes we have one, zero or both of these. "The Filth and The Fury" (as always, follow that link) If viewing on your phone, use the wide view as the lines are long and the normal view messes up the breaks
It's sort of like this, as described by William Faulkner in his wonderful book, which is where this poem's title comes from (alas sometimes we are too close to have a clue, not able to see the bigger picture):
Mr. Compson has a vague notion of family honor—something he passes on to Quentin—but is mired in his alcoholism and maintains a fatalistic belief that he cannot control the events that befall his family. Mrs. Compson is just as self-absorbed, wallowing in hypochondria and self-pity and remaining emotionally distant from her children.
Thanks to Chad Parenteau and Jason Wright for accepting my poem into Oddball and the talented Glenn Bowie for his photograph.