It's just poetry, it won't bite

The Clock Watching Expert


06.15.19 Posted in today's words by

Judith Cody’s most recent poem to appear here was “Midnight Supper Morning” (May 2019).

The Clock Watching Expert
By Judith Cody

The existence of time is heavy
for a thing so fast to spin
a minute for us
and go like a dust devil
goes
somewhere
where it will soon disintegrate
into dead order
grey dust.

It presses too awfully against
skulls to never speak of
of time
of eternity

one I will know
closely within
my flesh like a
lover
who plans to
abandon

the other
is always
alien.

A poetry teacher once admonished a young poet
“never write about TIME or ETERNITY.” Too arty
too poetical in the ancient sense.

But time is there
both innermost
and outermost
at once
in the human
scheme of things
draining like
pus or sand
depending
on momentary
pain level
measured like
the boredom of surf
slipping, slipping
always slightly
sliding
away the land
surf of cells
the same.

Time for “CNN” time for “NewsCenter 4” time for someone
somewhere to gurgle to death time to dig a hole for corpse
for cabbage seed for a new swim pool for cat shit for hiding
in—

a drawer of broken
watches stare out
at the drawer opener.

What’s to be done?

There is no time
left to fix them all
all is sieved through
the glass
the sun whizzed by
so often already
too fast too many
to count anymore
gave up trying.

Time to cook a ten thousandth supper for some man’s “What’s to eat?”

What’s to cook?

It all ends up in the same hole all
those gourmet extravaganzas
            or curds or whey.



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