The clock goes tick-tock – tick tock , all day long –
its power provided by a small battery
inserted some years ago
by a guy who likes to know what time it is.

Oh. he could look at his wrist
and insist that that little device
yield the same information.

But the noise of the clock that TELLS him time
surpasses the joy he receives from the one that SHOWS him.
And I’m surprised that I have failed to tell you, my friends –
those who neither listen or see me most of the time
as they do their thing and I do mine.

I do get in a word to them sometime
when I’m messing around with rhyme
and they are willing to stop whatever they’re up to
and invest, at my request, some modest effort–
caring for a guy just passing by –
a guy who wants them to know he listens
to the tick and the tock of his clock – of his heart.

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