8:15

It’s not quite 8:15 yet, but another weekend has flown by and it’s time for me to get organised for the week ahead. After yesterday’s wee sad poem, today we’ve got some fun with words from another class mate of mine from Glasgow University’s MLitt.

8.15 – by Jim Elrick

Eight.
Date.
Late.

The face on the clock mocked him
Each second hand movement a dagger
Into his heart.

Second hand. That was him.
Used, abused, confused.
Red face, red rage, easily read.

Patience.
Never his strong suit.
Disappointment always on the cards.
Too old for clubs
Too poor for diamonds
Too broken for hearts.
Trouble in spades.

8.05.
Sixty-five minutes late
For a very important date.
He loosened his red tie.
“A red carnation would be too cheesy”
She’d said.

Seven. She said she’d meet him at seven
Now it was after eight.
No after-dinner chocolates tonight.
Sour grapes. Humble pie. Hard cheese.

8.10
He sighed and drained his glass
Of bitter. Appropriately.

His hand moved across his face
Wiping the sweat on his brow.
Beaten.
The second hand moved to quarter past.
Hung, drawn and quartered past.

8.15.
The condemned man
Stood up.

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