The Countdown is On

There is a beaker-shaped jar

sitting on the back corner of my kitchen bar.

Day after day I gaze with determined intent

mesmerized by its trapped content.

The gases, blue, yellow, red and green

perpetually swirl, such a hypnotizing scene.

Dreams of the day day I can pop the cork

and chase the vapors clear to New York.

Patience dangles, with my arm stretched to the sky,

but with each vertical leap, it proves to be just too high.

But with each tick, the time draws near,

and now all that remains is one year.

A slash on the calendar with each new dawn,

Ladies and gentlemen, the countdown is on.