Number 7

They put it on a line and called it Time
It passed – bored and restricted
On a one-way ticket, in the back of a bus
Time watches out the rear win­dow
to know what it once was.
 

At a quar­ter till the string was pulled
Every­thing slowed down, the stars blurred
Unheard Of came to stand, still
when in stepped Real­ity, with a trans­fer,
on its way to work.
 

Time shrugged and averted its gaze
Real­ity chuck­led, tak­ing the seat in the front
The dri­ver was jolly and told an ironic joke
She was ancient, and a wrin­kle of the guy in the back
often called Fate.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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