The Counting Game Poem by Alessandra Liverani

A full pack of twenty, oh what joy
Now down to nineteen, I still feel buoyed
There's now eighteen of the precious white sticks
But who's counting, they're really not worth a nick

Seventeen left, still quite a few to go
Seventeen sticks of poison, that's quite a show
Down to sixteen now, a small hole starts to appear
Sixteen of the precious white sticks I hold so very dear

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven
I now no longer feel that I am in heaven
Because I barely have left now more than half a pack
Of those little white sticks which keep me on the rack

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four
Now is when you'll see me walking out the door
To buy some more cigarettes, I cannot go too low
For I must always see the end of a cigarette glow

Cigarette addiction is very much a counting game
But to count something of no value is a real, real shame
Because a false value to it will be given
And counting the blasted things is now what keeps me driven

Sydney, Australia
Copyright (c) 2003 Alessandra Liverani

(Sydney, Australia - 2003)