David Southward

Only Too Lucky 

Some days I’m haunted by the thought
that of the untold million souls
who’ve roamed this world (and doubtless sought
fulfillment of as many goals),
I’m of the relatively few
alive right now to dream or do.	

What grave responsibility!
How dare I waste a precious hour
scrubbing the sink, preparing tea —
when Earth lies waiting in full flower	 
for me to seize a one-time chance 
to windsurf, birdwatch, stargaze, dance!

Could this be why my temper flares
when people stoop to pettiness,
or when I feel my own slight cares
possess me? Who would ever guess,
hearing me curse the price of gas:
my sand runs through an hourglass?

Subconsciously I think we know,
no matter how we maximize
our go-round in life’s rodeo,
it passes like a butterfly’s.
A whistle blows; we sigh and go.
Deep in our heart of hearts, we know

of countries that we’ll never visit;
projects that we won’t complete;
books, art, music so exquisite
they feed the soul, we will not eat.
With hot blood coursing through our veins,
we’ll bicker over carpet stains.

It hurts my head to think how much
the gift of life is paradox:
a preciousness we can’t quite touch;
a cosmic window, sealed by locks
that shut us in with small concerns
while all around us, beauty burns.  

David Southward teaches in the Honors College at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. His collections include Queer Physics (Kelsay Books 2025), Bachelor’s Buttons (Kelsay Books 2020) and Apocrypha (Wipf & Stock 2018). David resides in Milwaukee with his husband, Geoff, and their two beagles. Read more at davidsouthward.com.