Poem of the Week | March 23, 2026

Kirun Kapur was a 2025 finalist for The Missouri Review’s Editors’ Prize in poetry. She grew up in Hawaii and now lives along the banks of the Merrimack River. She is the author of three books of poetry: Women in the Waiting Room (Black Lawrence Press, 2020), a finalist for the National Poetry Series; Visiting Indira Gandhi’s Palmist (Elixir Press, 2015), which won the Arts & Letters Rumi Prize and the Antivenom Poetry Award; and the chapbook All the Rivers in Paradise (UChicago Arts, 2022). She serves as editor at the Beloit Poetry Journal and teaches at Amherst College, where she directs the creative writing program.

“Live Fast Die Young Bad Girls Do It Well” by Kirun Kapur is our Poem of the Week.

Live Fast Die Young Bad Girls Do It Well

When the last days come, may I be driving 

too fast down the Pali Highway, swimming the bay 

in the dark, laughing and swallowing water. 

May my wet hair fly out from the back of a motorcycle— 

no need now for a helmet. May I wind my way up Tantalus 

to shout curses and blessings over the city 

where I was young and happy, young and harmed. 

Now, I’m armed with stars miles above.   

May I lie in a bed of uncapped pens, books  

with wrecked spines, my tea-stained drafts— 

all lost in the sheets when friends climb in beside me 

to read. In my last days, I want to take off my shoes  

in the middle of dancing, carry armfuls of peonies  

in from the garden, walk the neighborhood   

after a dinner, admiring the rectangles  

of lit up lives. In my last days, I want to remember  

how almost everything was better in the dark 

and at higher speeds, how I never regretted  

doing anything naked, flashing my middle finger,  

taking long unnecessary trips in cars, wrapping  

my arms around complete strangers, going 

up to the edge, then one step too far.  

***

Author’s Note

This is a poem about the wildness, joy, and pleasure that is sometimes unleashed in the wake of great fear or sorrow. When you know—really know in your bones—that your time is short, that you don’t have any more days to waste, what should you do? You might give the world the bird. You might dance in random places. Or lie in bed with books and beloveds. Or speed bareheaded through the night. If you could choose, what would you do with your last glorious bursts of strength and energy? It’s also just a poem inspired by a song.