Cracked and Convext

This is a poetic response to prompt #47 on the POETRY page.

Cracked and Convex



Bubbled out and grimy

lens turning black on the 4 and 5.

So black maybe its a crack.

Cannot tell



Time to feed when the buzzer screams

like a bell and all in the hall and on the

porch alert to full.

But not me...immune to the sound of

this and all mornings when there is church sound

accompaniment.



The girl sleeping at my side barks in my

face and kneads my belly with her paws.

Is something wrong I ask?

Her bright eyes loving and loyal.

And then I see

and hear

and wonder why I do not waken to the bells.



There is a crack in the clock and that is where my

dream has gone to die. The crack in the clock

that allows me to give the slip to the night and the

encroaching morning...

The burnt looking part that obscures

so I am unable to see the number...

That scorched convextness that speaks for itself...



I will come to their rescue...

They will come to mine...

There is a clock and somehow...

it tells the time.