Time, you’re politically conservative,
moving the reverse of NASCAR,
all right hand turns,
and no lefts.
And Time, you’re
bereft
of imagination.
You move
at
a
constant
pace.
You’re stuck in a rut.
Now think, Time, if you were freed from my clock,
not chained to my night stand as a home for my Ipod dock,
what marvelous change you could make.
Yeah! You could make a break,
pull up stakes
and wave your hands in the face of convention.
Sleep on what I’ve said, Time.
Don’t be alarmed if I wake up before you do tomorrow.

© Joel Tipple
330