Screw Your Courage

King: Indeed, I’m nothing if not brave.
Fool: In truth thou speaketh, nothing.
King: I am of two minds about that comma.
Fool: Pray, pay it, sirrah, as is your custom, no mind.

                                                            —The Fall of Fresno

It goes without saying that when we hear

the bomb blast, I will not be running towards

it with the heroes. Nor will I step in front

of you to take a bullet. Sorry. And in a thousand

smaller ways, I have long ago proven the true

measure of this man. As you well know,

I will leave one milliliter of milk in the carton,

so as not to be the one tasked with throwing it

out. I will snore a little louder when we both

hear the dog whining to be let out too early

in the morning. When we are watching

your favorite show about the bachelor who

test-drives a showroom full of well-equipped

women, you never hear the caustic dialogue

running through my head, only the occasional,

passive-aggressive, “I’ll bet she would go

to the kitchen and get him a beer.” It goes

without saying that the kids come to me

with their requests for later curfews and greater

allowances, knowing I will fold like a cheap suit.

So when I tell you I wish I could take your place

in that hospital bed, tubes snaking in and out

of you, wish it could be you telling me the lame

joke about Death going into a bar and the bartender

says, “what’ll you have?” and Death says, “the guy

on the third barstool”—we both know it has nothing

to do with self-sacrifice or a greater tolerance

for pain, and everything to do with going first,

with not being the one left holding the bag

of all the days to come, left to die a thousand times.

(from MockingHeart Review, 2017)