Charitable Days Poem by Louis Kasatkin

Days are made charitable by their absence,
best off intruding someone else's eviscerated
existence rather than mine;
Time was when I felt
that I had time,
some substance of it
in my backpocket ready for
rainy days that sort of thing,
but no, days are not like that,
monstrous they are great
impervious behemoths with their
unrelenting array of hours,
all twenty-four of them;
count them then count them again,
absence makes the heart grow fonder,
in their case absence makes
the days grow longer,
or so it seems to one with
the imprint of the day's boot
on my face where it had stamped down
with an indifference peculiar to time;
tick tock tick tock as though time didn't care,
which of course being Time it can't possibly can it?
Days espouse nothing other than their own concerns
so days are made charitable by their absence,
or so it seems.