CC Bloom Poet Free verse

The Cuckoo Clock from Hell

It suddenly occurred to me, 
in a moment
of rare clarity,
that there are women
who buy cuckoo-clock
puzzles,
and then,
there are women
who assemble them.

I am proudly,
the second type,
even if that makes me
belong inside
the clock.

I feel terrible
for whomever
assembles these 
inglorious bastards,
aka lasered wooden 
pieces (from H-E-
double toothpicks).

That spells Hell
for the slower
readers following along
at home.

I have already
scrounged around,
twice,
on my hands and knees
looking for pieces 
that popped off.

Meanwhile,
I ask myself:
“how did I get here?
Is this life?”

If so, I am happy
and the clock
makes sense,
even if life doesn’t
cuckoo,

or announce the hour
on time.

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