A Stopped Clock

Like a stopped clock,
I’m correct only at intervals.

If I were pressed to say when, I’d say
I stopped at 41 and a few months.

Old enough to claim full rights 
to grown-up, young enough

to pass for less than that
at select moments,

at least in my head.
Now, years later, I’m old enough

to claim old, young enough
to be dismayed that most everyone

agrees with me, not quite old enough
to be past all care for others’ perceptions.

I look forward to one more moment
of complete synchronization

when this stopped clock will one more time
tell it like it is, and then

most likely will be discarded,
or with any luck be shunted into a dusty box

of broken things with sentimental value,
things no one can quite bring themselves to toss.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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