William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

His Own Clock Ticking

Expecting snow. Expecting rain. Expecting spring.
Expecting soup. Expecting carrots. Expecting beans.
Expecting love. Expecting death. Expecting wings.

His Own Clock Ticking

A human aware of his own clock ticking,
I give you the weather — as it relates to my own,
which, having just bathed, is moist and warm
and promising sun — a day begun
precisely so, is all that matters,
and must not be

How dull — a man nigh sixty
at a keyboard eight years old, printed, black,
dusty, punctuation-worn.

Yet see how he comes to the door
with no shirt on, answers well the bell
before it’s rung.

Hello — he clears his throat — hello? —
takes special notice of the hair upon his arm,
suddenly recalls the water in the ditch
in the sun on the farm — his childhood,
of course — you might have it
for your own — go ahead,
take it, put it on.

Naked-born, such a short while ago —
could there be anything as long
as the interval between a doctor’s spank
(yes, he too is gone) and the crossing
of the floor?

Yes — perhaps this poem.

Come in, come in, he cries, we’ve been
expecting you! — and who should return his wave
but the aching day in bloom — petal-fall, glad you called,
oh, how good it is to be a faithful note
in such a simple, sacred tune.

Recently Banned Literature, May 16, 2016

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Categories: Recently Banned Literature

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