centuries ago
it seems
since
I kept a timepiece
strapped
round a pulsing circulation
a merry go round
like the faces of clocks
swung the pendulum
at 13
joined the throng of
serious watchers of
the stroke
midnight
quarter hours
divisions by 60
on the dot
never later than they said
tut tut tutting
ticking off
tardiness was next to sinfulness
still is
a rebuff to any arrangement
waiting at the altar on the tarmac by the platform clock
time was though when it was boundary for me
safety net for them
the therapy room clock subtly seconding each unspoken moment
timepiece is my heart beat now
I need no other monitor of passing
Joining Melissa for her Poetics prompt: Unpunctuated in which we do away with all those guiding symbols of pause and meaning
PoetryPix 