It's the Seconds that Matter Now

The bed is quicksand, the blanket warm        
and leaden around my legs, so I        
slither out of the room and its clutches,        
punch the button that wakes the coffee maker,        
that starts the rumbling and the chortling               
which is the time to reach for a mug        
from the dish rack, lay it on the cup plate        
of the machine about to belch brown mud        
         
I fill a glass with water and a splash        
of apple cider vinegar, stir        
then walk over to my meds, to pop        
out the morning’s required capsules        
tablets, caplets, and, with glass in hand        
drink them one by one pray-er-ful-ly    
   
I skate over to the computer        
to put it on and let all the doors        
of the day creak open, I walk back        
to the coffee maker just in time        
to watch the last drops, hear its final sigh        
         
At seventy, you hurry, as best        
you can, it is claimed that Gandhi said
“the trouble is you think you have time”.