Eight Minutes Poem by Susan Lacovara

I could call this day done
Eight minutes more

I could climb aboard that cloud
And ride the snowflakes falling

I could slam back one last cigarette
Stained with leftover lipstick

I could swing myself from jeans
To a satin sheeted bed

I could remember how you sighed
Just before our long distance goodbye

I could spin my cares into a skein
Of woolen why-should-I-worry yarn

I could look back at all I've packed
Knowing moving forward takes a leap

I could let the clock tick tock alone
Unaffected, give way to much needed sleep

I could allow this last twenty four hours
To dissolve into well steeped memory tea

In just eight minutes