Soliloquy

The hands of the clock are set in their ways
displaying the time that was last seen before
a calamity of this size erupted; they stare at me

in mock annoyance as they oscillate between
deciding whether to keep up with this pathetic
charade or accept themselves for what they are.

I raise my hands in mock surrender
as I sidestep from being pulled into another
conversation of who was right and who wasn’t;

they give me the glare of someone who feels
that they have been wronged. I ignore such
hostilities and instead focus on the morning

newspapers with no date which appear
to bring the truth out and remind the world
of its fallacies with excruciating slowness.

The owner of the hands of the clock stops
me on the edge of the street and wants
me to understand its significance right then and there.

*************************************************

For how long must this long-drawn battle of will
and skill be stretched? The right word never
seems to step inside my mouth as I wave

frantically to you while you float past my shortcomings;
you rush back inside, to all our chagrin
having to confront the cruelties of life.

I evade the dexterities of this confusion
like an expert boxer does to those of his competitor’s
uppercuts. Unlike Williams, might it be too early

to do something useful with my life? I decide not
to take sides with myself as my eyes finally
begin to talk to me while avoiding my gaze.