By John Grey
The clock on the wall
is more in charge
than any manager.
But its transit
is slower than the sun’s.
While you pray for
the coming of five o’clock,
minutes bog down
like roots…
not even seconds
can be counted on.
And then there’s
the shadow you make
on your watch’s face.
The hands stop.
They can’t see
where they’re going.
Copyright© 2021 by John Grey
Undivided Magazine 