Do we arrive?
Screaming from the womb
Maybe to most
It hardly seems like
A fleeting moment ago
How the fruitless years
Take a vengeful toll
On many a wasted life
We should set a time to die
Like Sunday week at 2pm
And concentrate fully on living
Until then

How the nerve ends would sharpen
As each wasted moment annoyed
A little more than the one before
How the eyes would sparkle
When set before outrageous beauty
Then suddenly
Change to panic
At the wanting more

Would we be decisive?
About all our daily decisions
Or would we throw them away
Like old this and that
Where the sell by date
Lingered in the past

How would we choose?
Between this and that?
Would we try to please others?
Or seek a more obscure comfort
Hidden under a favourite hat

And when the appointed time came
Would we say?
I have far too much to do
I think I’ll leave it
For another week or two

Or
Would we be content?
By Sunday week at 2pm