Five Thousand Days
William Ogden Haynes

I looked it up.
The actuarial tables say
I have about five thousand
mornings left.
It takes less than six hours
to breathe five thousand times,
and an hour and a half for
five thousand heartbeats.
I do not know
how many tubes of toothpaste,
college football games, electric razors,
filet mignons, orgasms, bottles of merlot,
or vacations to the Caribbean
will fill five thousand sunrises.
I cannot predict
how many more cars, homes, cats, or dogs I will own.
I do know
I won’t go to medical school, join the military,
start a rock band or become a matador.
Will I have time
to learn the guitar, speak Italian,
publish a novel, master watercolors
or meet my grandchildren?
I have five thousand days.