If There's Time

It’s an old clock
hanging on a wall
in a small room 
on the third floor.

We go up there 
four times a year 
exchanging clothes
to mark the arrival 

of another season. 
Not much else in there 
except my wife’s vases 
and our yearbooks from 

the Fifties and some 
good novels we hope 
to read some day
if there’s time.

Once a year
the clock stops
and I bring up 
a new battery.

But not this year.
I told the clock don't move.
Stay right there 
and we’ll stay with you.


Donal Mahoney
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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