Clocks

Here is a brave face with a white rim
watching as I talk to my mum
while morphine drips into her arm.

Here is a resilient watch with a worn out
luminous night glow that’s been my Dad’s since 1990.
It’s battled through vicious seas in canoes,
and now listens patiently during school room meetings.

Here is a concerned carriage clock
which has seen many different houses
and now rests on a shelf at Grandma’s.
It’s the one which tick-tocks all night long
while Grandma’s away, looking after us.

A devout, deluded clock I know towers
over Clare Priory, above the oratory
where my mum attended when she was well
and I was once an altar boy.

Jo-Jo Hall (aged 12)