Wednesday, 09 May 2012
It’s much easier flipping pages
Than it is turning whole chapters;
You’ve got to find where it begins,
And also mark where it ends.
Turn too fast or too far and
You wind up in the middle of a story,
In the middle of a sentence,
In the middle of a paragraph
Wondering why you leapt in the first place.
Time marches onward one second after another
In consecutive order like ants marching
To fill the queen’s order: “this is our quota,
Our fill of the food for the month.”
Time never leaps, except for that one time
Every four years when the calendar jumps,
And every four years I find myself wondering:
What am I supposed to write on that extra page?