I So Much Hate The Clock

A circle with metal,
Jutting straight through
Wondering are all,
What the devil are you?

Digital, an ease to read,
Clinging to a wrist.
With glowing lights ahead,
You’ll see in any mist.

A large erect brown box,
Its golden pendulum sways.
A master of all clocks,
Stealing away my days.

And the surreptitious flip,
Always hidden by the hand,
Forcing time to skip
Swiftly over the land.

Figure eights, with sand gone by,
I don’t hear the tick-tock.
I know the answer why,
I so much hate the clock.

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