Sunday, 13 December 2009

#11. The Pink Clock Goes Tick Tock

The pink clock goes tick tock.
Biologically inside of me it calls for every
checkpoint. Joints disappointing artefacts
crumbling in time.
To wine and dine a masterpiece
To teach the ABC
To point to apples and to cars
and hear a tiny voice
repeating words that you have carved.

The pink clock goes tick tock.
The cat in the hat and the mouse in the house
douse rose water on the alter.
Faltering before insisting everything be
as you once saw it
behind your childlike eyes.
You create the same lies:
Of Santa getting stuck in a chimney
after one too many mince pies.
Of the tooth-fairy sneaking into bedrooms
and stealing children's teeth.
Of monsters under the bed
and red faces in the windows.

The pink clock goes tick tock.
Building blocks to podiums that we
never get to mount
as we run in a race that we
never even count. Bouncing glass off walls
in halls of shattered mirrors
getting nearer to that clearer end
hour by hour
minute by minute
the clock is not your friend.
It's pink is like a mask of joy
confusing souls to think their time will never come
running at the speed of light
to miss all our featured fights
we find ourselves on the last stretch
unappreciated; the unsung sketch.

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