Time is like the River Forth
its flowing down my spine.
Big Ben is printed on my eyelids
And my heart is beating
Tick, tick, tick, tock.
Time is painted in the Stirling sky
and is burning holes
into the big fat orange moon, beating on me,
Beating like my pulse
Tick, tick, tick, tock
Time is flapping in the wind
And punching kisses on my chest.
White breath coughs from behind my teeth,
Chattering like supermarket baskets.
Tick, tick, tick, clatter.
Time is waiting on the bus,
Its holding a student pass outright
and the driver is checking his watch, shaking his head
Like a pendulum
Tick, tick, tick, bong
Time is passing by the window,
In the old ladies rain mate,
and it’s trapped in the spokes of an inside out brolly
and it’s pouring
Drip, tick, tock, drip
Time has landing on my face From a charcoal dusk and
Airborne tear shapes that slap my skin
Tick, tick, drip, drip onto my essay.
© Kirsty Lear-Grant