The clock needs wound

So I was busy busy busy yesterday... and now, just like Friday, I need to write two poems today. Just as a note, I am genuinely not putting (consciously at least) more thought into one poem over another... The working mode has been title first, and then just see where it takes me... so let's see where this one goes...

The clock needs wound

It's not an old clock

as old clocks go

almost seventeen years

it's not left us alone


First in the hallway

where it felt out of place

then in the dining room

where it seemed more at home


Seldom have I been good

about winding it up

rather allowing to expire

those quarter hour tones


Though it has never

been long off my mind

either calling out hours

like some disturbing phone


Or standing in silence

only right twice a day

with no ringing reminders

as quiet as stone


There's a poem inside it

a rhyme to remind

that that it's my job to wind it

but I lose track, and so


I have no conception

no counter, no click

to remind me of moments

before all is bone

The End

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