Sometimes there’s just no poetry and...

Sometimes there’s just no poetry

and…

you sit and watch the clock and the

steady movement of the hands slo-

wly reach  out  in search  of a drink
is  as  close  to  love as  you can  get
lost in the faces of strangers as they
pass  by  on  the  street signs speak
foreign words and  remind  you of
how far you are from home is only
a memory fading like bright colors
in the sun faints  again  at the  app-
roach of the darkness does not care
that you are alone in this room wat-
ching the hands of the clock.

SMG