Clock 

The clock in the kitchen

was always five minutes fast,

an imagined buffer to fool us into
believing we were ahead of schedule.

But we weren’t ahead, not really,

for the moment we looked up
and said those inevitable words,
“we have five more minutes,”
we invariably set ourselves up
to be late for whatever event
lurked just around the corner.

I thought it was normal to live this way,

until I spent the weekend at a friend’s home,
and the family was preparing to watch
their favorite evening program.

I instinctively looked up

at the kitchen clock ticking away
like a ceramic time bomb,
and reflexively said, “five more minutes.” 

My friend just stared, and continued

to wonder why I was always late.




                      ~~~

First published in Shadow Poetry / February 2008

Shadows Ink Poetry Contest Fall 2007 / 13th Place