Her Insomnia

this is a private affair
between her and her wall clock

there is this consistent rhythm
of the tick tock tick tock

her pupils roll and sometimes
still
staring at the walls of the house

restless she avails of all the possible
combination of postures

but to no avail
the clock keeps on ticking and ticking and ticking

she feels like a tick
and she cannot talk

this is her private affair with her wall clock
above her head
her mouth is closed shaped like
a lamppost
without a light.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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