 | Latest Poem: Scratching |
| Tick⦠Time has claws and teeth Why not a beard and false teeth as well? A clock ticks on the wall, Old like the woman rusted into her armchair, Scratching at the childâs jacket. Stitching Ticking Tock⦠The bearded manâs hands are sand on a beach, Sealed in a glass jar And labelled as to show that Johnny- 8 -was there. The hourglass turns over. Sixty years are swallowed by gravity And the ticking of the clock becomes a pained squeak. The grind of decayed clockwork as once youthful knees stoop, To pick up his own grandson. Tick⦠With every jerk of the long hand another thread catches on a talon. Another wound inflicted by the claws and false teeth And sand in the beard of Grandfather Time. We are Achilles, Time wounds all heels. Tock⦠The jar breaks and Grandfather John strikes the child, Forces him to stand in the corner for eighty years. Watches him cry with indifference. Laugh with indifference. Age with indifference. Until finally welcomes him back with arms wide And the hourglass tips over again. Tick⦠|
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 | Poem Category: Miscellaneous |
| Poems in this category:
Scratching by Troubadour (Jun. 17) |
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