for Pam & R O'N-D
I do the dutiful thing
and turn my clocks forward
- or back - but then I conjure up
an extra twelve minutes, nudge them in
to fatten the middle of the hour,
giving myself a little extra
Time to play with.
I am rebel. Thief.
A friend and I agree that Time
and second hands should be tied
behind the backs of doors, banished
bound with flat faces pressed
to the corner. We flip Time around
our wrists, make it lie down. I tell her
I once knew a clock with eyes
instead of hands. It kept watch
from a clean white mantlepiece
in a honey-coloured room.
We listen for chimes outside
the window and when the wind blows
in the right direction, hear Time trip
down the cathedral steps and take
to the streets.
We are tempted to wave as it passes.