I sit on the floor
Tinkering
With all my broken pieces
A clock that works no more
I’ll take a piece of me
And give a piece of you
Which sounds cruel
But only if you don’t know what it means
Perhaps when we’ve finished
Collecting and spending
Hammering, adjusting, and
Ignoring
We might remember how we tell time
At least, that’s the hope
Which I don’t suppose is any more foolish
Than being realistic