this day is bored.
he looks at his watch
and sighs:
it's barely eleven a.m.
he is thinking of the sweet
mechanical sound
of clocking out
and on the deep blue
of his punching card,
then a smile fades in
and fades out
almost instantly.
he looks at his watch
again
it's still eleven a.m.
he shakes his watch
and put it to his ear,
he winds it up.
the watch starts his race anew.
he then yawns
and decides to call in
some rain clouds
so he can take a nap.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
lovely write from a unique perspective.