I Don't Have Time

The gym card sits inside my drawer,

Beside intentions from before,

While trainers, pristine, still in box,

Remind me daily as it mocks—

"I don't have time."

The dentist's card keeps ringing through,

"Your check-up's twenty months o'erdue!"

I mean to book, then life intrudes,

And shift the blame to work and moods:

"I don't have time."

That friend suggests we meet for tea,

"Let's catch up soon," she says to me,

My diary bulges, days cascade,

Till months of excuses are made:

"I don't have time."

The garden's turning rather wild,

The weeds grow high, all reconciled

To claiming back their ancient ground,

While I repeat that mournful sound:

"I don't have time."

The painting set from Christmas past

Still wrapped in cellophane's held fast,

Creative dreams on hold until

I stop repeating, like a drill:

"I don't have time."

The ironing mountain touches sky,

Clean clothes in wrinkles sadly lie,

While I dash past in daily race,

Muttering with harried face:

"I don't have time."

Yet somehow hours dissolve away

On social media each day,

While Netflix asks that deadly line:

"Are you still watching?" Yes, but mine's

"I don't have time."