An Infestation Of Clocks Poem by Sheena Blackhall

My father's days were ruled by the tick of clocks
Punctuality was his watchword
He was a genuine time piece
He kept my grandfather's waistcoat watch on a chain
Kept for dressy occasions

He managed an omnibus service
Everything by the timetable
Barring a storm or war

Little heartbeats tick-tocked through our house
Busy busy busy never stopping
All wound up by father's master keys
They struck the hours and chimes on quarter hours
Playing fragments of Westminster tones

There was an infestation of clocks in our house
A little plastic hourglass timed the boiling of eggs
The only timekeeper that didn't ring the hours

Each day he wound the mainsprings of his time slaves
Starting with our old grandmother clock
It tolled a hypnotic pendulum
Accurate, reliable to the last click
Just under 6 feet tall, a longcase clock

All our clocks were analog,
With their shiny glassy faces cased in wood
Some had Roman numerals, all had moving hands
Every hour of work or rest was monitored

The music room held a carriage clock,
And a metronome that ticked off different rhythms

Alarm bells started to ring
When one morning my dad didn't rise

Life hit an all time low
And wouldn't you know it
All of the clocks stopped working