Time
Stands before me clicking his teeth
Winding his wrist
Ready
To punch out my clock
But I’ll beat the old bastard
Licking his lips
Watching the seconds drip into file
From the meandering folds of his mellifluous beard
His whittled cane
Throws a roundhouse curve
Crashes into my youthful flanks
Saps ten years at a single blow
But I’m a dancing demon with all the moves
No tottering cuckoo is going to lay me low
Ohh!
A lucky punch to the midriff there
(And my digestion ain’t what it used to be)
Ah!
The buzzard’s beating my back with a broom (named Bing?)
Swept away my dashing days
I stoop upon the threshold now
Ooch!
A fiendish jab of his knobby knee
And I sound like Wayne Newton.
No more old crock
You’ve done your worst
Just give me a second to catch my breath
Wham!
The knockout punch
My head reels back
Heart skips a beat
Cracked spine quivers
And I see stars
I’m down for the count
He thinks he’s won
The villainous coot
My bones are dust
The coffin’s shut
But I see stars . . .
And oh, what light!


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Copyright ©1999 by Laurence Overmire. All rights reserved.
Originally published in Along the Path
Published in Poetry the Write Way: Webstatic – First Journey (Sept. 2000)
Laurence’s biography page