Time From My Pocket Poem by Justin Houseman

I pull it from my hat,
A magician’s white bunny.

The years are like rabbits, but
I brandish the clock in my hand.

Open the box of smoke, and
Peer inside. The heavy layers
Of gray block what little light
There is! I will pour a fist-full
Of storms in a bowl for you,
Dust from my pockets.

I wanted to warn you. You
Walked barefoot in a skillet,
Sizzling with the grease.

I cannot help you, babe.
I go clockwise, and
You always wait at
10pm. Maybe soon.

I need a pocket-watch
If I am to know when
The time is right.