Time
Is on the side
Of the window sill,
Upon which glass vases sit
And overlook the city
With immeasurable pity
For the drunkards and whores
And seven o’clock boredom.
Time
Is on the side
Of the car in which
The passenger sits, holding
A hand from the back seat.
Holding his breath and a beat
For two many seconds.
He will be, at seven o’clock,
reckoning.
Time
Is on the side
Of the wrist
On which the watch sits.