It has got to count for something

All the nappies you have changed,
all the blow jobs you’ve given,
all those nights you spent
alone at home masturbating.
All those hours in the supermarket
queue, cooking, or stuck in traffic
or doing the school run, the funerals,
the weddings, the christenings. Your
aching joints, those days you spent
on the beach, all the times
you’ve knocked your shin.
All the newspapers you’ve recycled,
all the plastic you’ve saved from
being dumped into the ocean.
Those arguments, those
words flying in your face,
the skin on all the hot chocolates
you’ve ever drunk,
all that coffee, those tequilas,
those late nights with friends,
consoling and drinking.
Every sighting of a whale,
every letter you’ve written,
every email you’ve sent.
The noise of the city,
the smell of the ocean,
cigarette smoke drifting in
from your neighbours house,
the sound of someone running
a bath upstairs. The feel of the sun
on your face, the feel the sun on
your naked skin. All those times
you’ve had cold feet or a hangover
or you gave change to the car-guard.
All those times there was no electricity.
Every sundowner and every sunrise.
All those days you didn’t get out of bed,
those times you didn’t protest and let
the world slide by. Every time you’ve
raised your fist, said a callous word.
All the joints you’ve ever smoked,
the drugs, the bedtimes
you’ve supervised, all the books
you’ve read, that walks you’ve taken,
the sessions in the gym, the stolen
kisses, the one night stands, the break-up sex.
All those times you mowed the lawn or weeded
the garden, the fuck-ups and the break-downs.
All the times you’ve climbed a tree,
walked barefoot on the grass, changed a flat tyre,
restocked the fridge, watched the stars.
All the times you’ve worn black or painted
your toenails purple, shaved your head,
worn platform shoes, ignored a friendly smile.
Every television show you’ve watched,
every love song you’ve listened to,
every movie that has made you cry.
They have got to count to for something,
haven’t they?