Jerry Durick’s most recent poem to appear here was “Stupid” (July 2017).

 Plague Poem for Day 10
By Jerry Durick

I’m sitting in this chair where I have sat for years
it seems, surrounded by all the things I have
done and the things I mean to do, by the books
I have read and those I intend to read someday,
perhaps soon. Just sitting here, the room seems
measured, controlled by the ticking of its clocks,
the old desk clock on the shelf that ticks its second
hand around its face, the electronic one that hums
as it spells out the time [12:34], [10:10] and then there’s
the large one, with a pretend antique clock face with
roman numerals, the loudest, it tsks more than ticks,
it’s that disapproving sound my mother used to make,
never raising her voice, just tsking with that antique
look on her face—tsk, tsk, tsk, disapproving of what
I did or intended to do but didn’t get done. Even at
my age she’s there tsking, and the clocks are there
with their measure and control—tsk, tsk, tsk—and
I’m sitting in this chair where I have sat and will sit
for years to come.