#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.