Shelf Life Poem by Sheena Blackhall

My life is a shelf
On Monday, Thursday, Friday
A bus sits at one end, work at the other
In the middle's a sachet of porridge
I am a stickler for habit

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays
The shelf is cleared for appointments
Teeth hair the usual vanities

On Saturdays and Sundays
I make a clean sweep. The shelf is bare
For me to wind down, rest, relax, repair.

It's getting late
My body now has passed its shelf life date