**"The Clock Tower Rebellion"**
They said a woman’s place was *in the home*—
so we built homes inside our fists.
Every hour, the town square clock strikes,
but the gears remember:
in ’43, the factory girls
stuffed their aprons with gunpowder,
let corset wires become shrapnel,
turned looms into barricades
while singing *"A stitch in time saves none of us."*
Now the minute hand sticks
at 12:07 forever—
the exact moment
the foreman’s watch exploded,
the exact second
the pregnant widow
took up the rivet gun
and didn’t miss.
**Tour Guide’s Footnote:**
*"Notice the bullet holes
they painted over with roses.
The new mayor calls it ‘folk art.’
We call it ‘receipts.’"*
Little girls rub their fingers
over the clock’s frozen face,
leaving smudges like fingerprints
on a verdict.
One whispers to the cobblestones:
*"When I grow up,
I want to be
a complication."*
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