Shall I count my days by pant liners?
And duly discarded socks,
From drawer to feet to washing machine
The daily cycle …?

Or by the regular ingestion
Of breakfast, lunch and supper,
Three times a day, twenty-one times a week,
One thousand and ninety-five times a year,
Sucking up time with spaghetti,
Spitting it out in cherry stones…?

Or by the predictability of television,
Eastenders, Emmerdale, Neighbours, Corrie,
Living vicariously from week to week
As plots unfold and repeat and repeat and repeat…?

Or by the arrival of bills –
Weeklies, monthlies, quarterlies,
Yearlies…?

By turning the pages of newspapers,
Magazines, timetables, diaries?

So we measure time and life itself slips by,
Day after hastening day,
Set on automatic pilot,
Till death itself shuts us down,
Organ after organ,
Brain, lungs, heart…
.