Tik…

The clock in the living room
is of an old design,
white, round face,
block numbers one through twelve.

tik…tik…tik…tik…tik

The hands are also the simple,
traditional design,
thin, black lines
one shorter than the other.

tik…tik…tik…tik

A quartz movement marks
the time, pushing the second
hand around with an interminable,
repeating tick.

tik…tik…tik

We converse often,
the clock and I,
when the nights are still
and the world slows down.

tik…tik…

Life and love are often topics,
along with hate and death
and fear and loneliness…
subjects where we share expertise.

tik…

The dog is comforted
by the sound of my voice,
but seldom seems
to notice the clock.

Advertisement

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s