Poetry Archives

I am glad God saw Death
And gave Death a job taking care of all who are tired
     of living:

When all the wheels in a clock are worn and slow and
     the connections loose
And the clock goes on ticking and telling the wrong time
     from hour to hour
And people around the house joke about what a bum
     clock it is,
How glad the clock is when the big Junk Man drives
     his wagon
Up to the house and puts his arms around the clock and
     says:
          “You don’t belong here,
          You gotta come
          Along with me,”
How glad the clock is then, when it feels the arms of the
     Junk Man close around it and carry it away.