One Morning the Door Was Knocked
One morning the door was knocked
I glanced at my watch briefly as the latch was unlocked
There in a box made of wood balanced on the brick wall
Was a tiny man laying quite still trying not to fall
It wasn’t a coffin as he was still alive and breathing
He didn’t have any clothes on he was nude as if bathing
But then as my arm tingled from sleep, the dream
dumped me coldly on a damp cobbled stone street
I glanced again at my watch it now had no hands
Its numbers had moved around, their order inverted
I noticed a child with far away eyes crying, it had stolen
the watch face, the tocks came before the ticks, they
escaped in a stream along my tingling wrist and arm
down into a field where colours smelt of Pine,
a bird caught some of the tocks, and devoured them all
It made a nest in the wooden box balanced on the brick wall
I glanced once again at my watch on my wrist
deep inside i viewed an interesting sight, a moon shone full
In another skies night.
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment