Time

Seconds tick as I count breaths on a patient.
Minutes fly by with only thirty to eat my lunch.
Hours mark my shifts, twelve if I'm lucky.
Shifts tell the turning of days, off every time I wake.
A week passes between sessions.
A month drags from one refill to the next.
A year until my next Pap smear and I don't even have sex.
Ten years since I threw my cap towards the sky.
Thirty-five years and maybe I'll get to retire.
And an unseen hand watches my progress, knowing the time my time will end.

By Karen Dewey
12/3/14