You Tick Away Like a Clock

Give me a day, an hour, a minute

of your carefully guarded time—

how it slips away in sand grains,

pooling at the bottom of an hourglass.

You want to be Mr. Schedule,

always appearing right on the dot,

but to you I'm Miss Too-Late—

especially in your little black book.

You act like I'm the nuisance,

doling out moments to you

like they're candy to savor,

but you spit them out in distaste.

I'm sorry I made you late to work

that day when we met for coffee,

but really it's your fault too

that I didn't have a chance to shine.

You gave me your time only once,

and I guess that was enough for you.

You're leaving on the next train out

and it's goodbye till another life.