If There's Time Poem by Donal Mahoney

It's an old clock
hanging on a wall
in a small room
on the third floor.

We go up there
four times a year
exchanging clothes
to mark the arrival

of another season.
Not much else in there
except my wife's vases
and our yearbooks from

the Fifties and some
good novels we hope
to read some day
if there's time.

Once a year
the clock stops
and I bring up
a new battery.

But not this year.
I told the clock don't move.
Stay right there
and we'll stay with you.