The Ten Ways I Didn't Die Today

The first was when I
woke from sleep,
steady heartbeat,
breathing deep.

Two was with the
razor in the shower.
I didn't slip and faint
and quietly bleed for hours.

The third, at breakfast,
when I did not choke
on Clementine and,
gasping, slowly croak.

Fourth, I took the
stairs one at a time;
I didn't slip and fall
and break my spine.

Outside I fifthly
did not tread
in dog shit, fall
and crack my head.

Six was when
I let the cars go past
before I crossed the road;
by God! They're fast.

The seventh was the dog
that didn't bite me,
and didn't look too rabid,
though he might be.

The eighth crept up behind me,
as though to end my life
but then he didn't stab me,
as he didn't have a knife.

Nine the cigarette which,
Unlike mother said,
didn't harm me all that much;
I didn't drop down dead.

And number ten the blood clot
which, rising from the dark,
did nothing, and broke down
before it reached my heart.