mcsweeney

Tic Tac Toc.
Goes the irregular clock that
Hangs on the clean white wall.

Tic Tac Toc.
The clock skipped a beat.

It is anticipated that the clock,
with metronomic regularity will
keep us rooted and aware of
where, who and when we are.

We're used to the toe tapping four-four timing
with a down-beat on one and three.
Not this syncopated waltz in changing time signature.
Tic Tac Toc.

We regularly fall back and spring ahead
to save a bit of daylight, but we
rarely question the mechanics of the
device with dials and digitals turning in time.

Tic Tac Toc.
Again the irregular clock.
Something is not quite right.
That something is disrupted by
one beat
one breath
one moment.

I listen for a pattern.
Hoping to find some structure;
to find some way to make sense of the
Tic Tac Toc
of the irregular clock.

If only there were a root, a blueprint, a tool through which I could predict the next skip.

Instead I get lost in the
Tic Tac Toc
of time measured in uneven blocks.
It becomes difficult to say if we have missed a tic
or added a toc, if we have missed a chance or added a glance
at the irregular clock that so coyly taunts
from the pristine white wall.