How to Live Forever

I could live like this forever. I could live taking pills and collecting urine. I could live in my pajamas eating oranges slowly. I don’t require movement, bottled water next to me. I could live taking vitamins and short walks. Live like this, with no complaints. I could live–five small porcelain dishes on the counter, meant originally for shoyu and wasabi. The five small white porcelain dishes on the counter, exact doses, split apart. Morning is simple, they don’t require food, and the painkillers are here. Mid-morning, the pretty pink addition, by lunch they get bigger, no longer small round compact, the dish is pinned down with long ovulars and a harsh yellow octagon. These hurt; stick in the throat. By dinner, I’m full, but need–need, I’ve been waiting since waking–the fourth dish that provides the round ones that regain my focus and the little guy that numbs the burn in my hips and back. I can live like this forever, count, distribute, swallow down. More for bedtime, as late as possible, to make waking less painful. Sundays are different. Vitamins are not included. I could live like this, filling out forms and waiting in lines. Healthcard in hand.