When Time Is Broken
The clock’s hands no longer move,
rusted with waiting and heavy with
oxidised breath. Time is no longer
golden but iron turned red with
longing. Ire bubbling below
a patience wearing thin. The
watch’s face is blank, no numerals
guarding its perimeter keeping count.
Under scratched glass, frozen hands
are circled by invisible sharks with teeth
two: one fang long, slicing seconds into
longer minutes; one tooth short, left
hanging like a child’s arm half raised
in question. When alone, time is
corroded by memories that won’t
exist.
Copyright © Thomas Harrison | Year Posted 2020
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