The Death of Clock

My mother is a circle
On her neck, a quartz crystal
She feeds us her one breast; a family bond
Tic, Tac, Tic, she tocks mild
We take after her, a family of circles.

He took a day job as a watch
Where he counts twelve twice a day
Brother was killed by a two legged vehicle
First time I knew third degree murder
A Judge prejudice for the Time people.

She is my kin, known to be quixotic
Her ways her so different
We will meet in a minute, my next round
She was called at Sixtieth Avenue
That, we were told, her last run on.

I’m Bolt, the fastest in the team
Till I had a pain in toes and sore foot
Now, I lay in a blue-bed
I count the remained seconds of my circled life
Poisoned from dust bust, a good day to die.

Father is locked in a cell
At such-and-such thinly location
When freed, he has a quart-pot at hand
Provision for his on ended temulency
We were called our family name, O’Clock.

One Comment Add yours

  1. Adah M.M says:

    Beautifully written

    Liked by 1 person

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