How Soon Poem by Eddie Roa

The clock’s pendulum strikes the gong
The pulley readies it for another strike
Outside the leaves have been swept in the curbs
Even before they turn brown, flame red and gold

Impatience goad the blossoming and ripening
Not allowing them to stay awhile as green and sour
Hot housing and hurrying their reddening
Sweet and acrid to the taste, gritty on the tongue

If it has not been by now it will never be
You have shunned others and they, in turn,
Have left you recalling false remembrances
Fantasies trying to be real yet in a blink are lost
In desolate streets you nail signs on rickety posts