Jorge Luis Borges, “Texas”
How worried am I obliged to be?
I worry to the max.
Everything bad we can foresee
will happen, they say.
I’ve paid in taxes
all the worry I was obliged to pay,
looking forward to a calmer day
when I could relax
into a future I could happily foresee.
Now it sucks to be me,
surrounded by electronic gadgets
that bombard me with images that worry
me to death. But by God I’m
free
to be a slouch and rely on cheap fixes,
because I can’t foresee
a day to beat the day
when Davy Crockett died for me in Texas.
How worried am I obliged to be?
How much bad can I foresee?
