BORED COWARD by Leah Yacknin-Dawson

Bored Coward

by Leah Yacknin-Dawson

hush · issue 7

I am an old man
at the end of my life.

I watched huisaches bloom
and a cattledog swim in the lake.

I grieved my dead
and endured the living.

I am a bored coward,
paralyzed by what I've yet to ruin.

I ask who will
remember me?

Have I earned
remembering?

I had no great love, or skill.
I grew up full

of potentials that drifted through
the window like balloons.

I chased other people's highs like kites.
I spent years that way.

I could have died at any point.
That is how little I gave to the world.

But I did take.
I burned & danced & smoked

& swam & read & wrote
when I could.

I could have written more.
I could have done everything I thought to do.

Instead I thought it doesn't matter. I am no
thing. The black lake does not depend on me.

A cattledog will swim at twilight.
Lo(o)k. Lo(out)k. Lo(outside)k.

The blue dog moves towards
the clear black lake. Hallelujah.

There is still time
even at its end.