The clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.
the gas heater firing up,
the refrigerator humming
The buzz of the city, the work, the cars
- the day brightens, brightens at snake speed
so close before winter solstice
the days calling out gently: Go slowly!
Go smooth! The year declines after all!
But hardly anyone listens
Not the clock, not the heating, not the fridge
and specially not the arterial road yonder
but I'm shooed