14th March, 2016 (“inside a broken clock”)

by Brendan Strong

the hands of a broken clock
mounted on a finished face
never think themselves wrong
like a pair of fakes

but without conscious thought
– for it just simply is –
there’s nothing morally frought
as simply as this

the rain could pour inside
if only the clock had an open top
through which we pour the wine
that we’d be drinking if we didn’t stop

there is no escape my friend
because the hands are stopped, it never ends.