Clock

Thirty silent clocks;

estate of an elderly man

who hoarded time in his bungalow

until each piece was spent

and he became time bankrupt.

I choose one for its looks,

wind it up like an old fashioned toy,

smile at its resuscitated tick-tock.

But on my mantle piece

it clamours above TV and chat,

raising its voice when I leave the room

forcing me to heed each second’s death,

then every five hours , stops.