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Let’s get rid of that old antique thing, my daughter said.
Was she talking about the clock? Was she loose in her head?
I pretended I had not heard her weird kind of blasphemy.
That clock was given to me by my oldest Grandma McGee.

Sure, it was ancient, it no longer played a pretty song
Some of it had splintered, its chimes were abrasive and long
But there was a connection between that timepiece and me.
Maybe because it had come from my favorite Grandma McGee.

That night I sat up in bed, wondering if a ghost was about the house.
That clock was playing like it was haunted by moose and mouse.
My hair frizzled with fright, for I had not had this experience before.
I broke off three teeth grinding them; I locked my bedroom door.

Could not get to sleep the rest of the night; this was a fright, it was a fright.
Next day, I tried to give the clock away at the first sign of daylight.
Who would want it? Asked my daughter, it's scary as a gargoyle on speed.
I can deliver it to your house, however, if you have a desire or need.

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