By Sean Murley
Sometimes the fast-forward button is stuck on the VCR.
The clouds move so quickly these days. My life
moves so quickly these days.
Even now, in the third longest hour of my life,
the second hand moves slightly too fast,
and I don’t know how it’s nighttime
at 5:30. I start to look out the window
with the spiderweb in the corner,
catching flies, as the time flies by.
I look through the albums
at a smaller me. The
pictures are faded.
I look through my Wal-Mart telescope
into the future. The clouds
don’t part, but float
above me. Beauty
is simply a matter of
how much sunlight hits.
Break all my CDs
for I have nothing,
with which to listen.
Call me on my rotary phone,
spin the dial if you need to talk,
that’s where I am now.
My wrist feels empty without
my watch. I watch the passersby
on the sidewalk, walking to
wherever they needed to be
at 5:30. Where do
I need to be.