This is about not quite achieving a goal, but I'm afraid the title may also refer to the present state of the poem as well.
Unfinished Business
The wind gently wrinkles the lake’s calm waters,
quilting the swells from an unseen power
boat that passed this way at dawn
which now cause my kayak to rise and fall.
Behind me I hear a faint shushing sound
as if a distant steamboat were bearing down
on me, but I’m no Huck Finn; it’s just
the rubbing of my own life vest.
My sights are set on the other shore; then the clock
tower strikes the hour too soon, and I turn
back, my journey only half-complete.
Nothing rides my modest wake.
Unfinished Business
The wind gently wrinkles the lake’s calm waters,
quilting the swells from an unseen power
boat that passed this way at dawn
which now cause my kayak to rise and fall.
Behind me I hear a faint shushing sound
as if a distant steamboat were bearing down
on me, but I’m no Huck Finn; it’s just
the rubbing of my own life vest.
My sights are set on the other shore; then the clock
tower strikes the hour too soon, and I turn
back, my journey only half-complete.
Nothing rides my modest wake.
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