POETRY
Afternoon — VIII
Does the clock spin faster when things are busy?
The sun whizzes by on skates,
taking minutes with him,
laughing as she works more furiously,
trying to catch up,
bending at the knees, out of breath.
Activity swoops in on a blast of breathy
extravagance, dumping busy
work that has piled up,
then skating
away with a wave, furiously
keen that no one catches him.
The Man of the House, with an overgrown lawn before him
braces himself with deep breaths
to do battle with weeds, furiously
run amok.
The clouds skate,
the busy
sound of the wind chime accompanies him, tuning up.
With great upward
motions, vegetation yields to him,
while elsewhere, the Mother skates
through chores on baited breath,
waiting for the next delivery of busy,
channeling energy from her fury.
