The comfortable clocks (03.21)

Comfortable clocks secretly watch
On wallpaper walls
Hands carve a notch
The mark of another hour
The comfortable clocks
So bold when they age
yet
In shrinking rooms
Our lives turn a page
On another day
Tick To, slow
The hands know something
I cannot predict my life’s unfold
behind glass lies
The stories untold
What future for us?
Tick Toc, slow
Breathe in time
With the click
Sigh, as the springs unwind
A random number picked
As the pointer stops
My wrist lick feeds the spring
And forget me not
Says the clock
Winding energy exchange
I coil him up
I re arrange his hands
Unfolding am I
Soon
To be expended
This narrowing voice calls
the carriage
The pearly face stares
A place in the hall
a movement concealed
a brass Bakelite shell
but bone movement fragile
I fell
stale, moved over the pale
today
as the comfortable clock carried on
Grandfather tall
Or mini mouse small
new owners
found Out, on jumble sale stall
For the years we are humble
Nimble fingers fumble
Hands on
My face stopped at 03.21



(c) Pete Crompton 2007