Sport 38: Winter 2010
I still imagine writing my name
on a piece of paper
and taping it to the underside of the clock
on the mantelpiece.
Wooden, with sloping shoulders coming down
from the curve of the face.
If I open the glass front and pull the hands
around with my finger
I'll make the time right.
If it's set to chime the sound
can be heard all through the house
and the pain vibrates in our chests.
So we keep it silent but all it would take
is a flick of a small metal switch.