27 March 2007, 1:27 PM
Time cannot be rushed- no,
he's a stodgy old Villain in a checked
cabbie hat, limping along the beat
and beating the hell out of Patience.
But no one can call him- the shots
are his, and cannot be coaxed
from the complacent pistol at his side.
Does he ever find reason to shoot
from the hip? Has he always been
so compulsively chronological?
I wonder, does the old man ever
skip light along the beat instead of faking
a bum leg and holding up the line
of weary travelers so ready to rest
aboard the train, made to stand
out in the rain- the cold, Spring rain,
because it isn't Summer yet,
and Time won't bend to spend his warmth
on teardrops falling from the melting sky.