Too Many Clocks
In every hall, on every wall
I hang another clock.
All day or night, they’re never right:
this trove of “tic” and “tock”.
The dining room: it’s nine-oh-three.
That’s all its clock can say.
The stereo will only show
it’s noon. (And yesterday.)
And in my room, it’s eight ’til two.
It’s also two-’til-eight.
They’re fast or slow. I never know:
too early? Oh, too late…
They chirp and cheep. They buzz and beep.
They cuckoo and they chime,
but every room I go, I know
I’m never short on time.