YULETIDE BOAT RIDE

The oars go up and down and up and down
Splishing away the minutes or hours or days
Time has long since been denied.
My clock was left behind in the shuffle.
I know now I was not meant to bring it.

I think of it now and then and now and then.
Diligently pounding out each second-
Only one shopping day till Christmas!!!-
Chime on, little clock. You don’t reach me here.
The boatman smiles. He knows our kind.

The touristas come and go and come and go.
Carrying their synchronized timetables.
We are no different really
And yet, our boatman soothes us
Maybe he feels the turmoil inside.

Does he know the pound and scrape and pound and scrape
Rising from beneath the Villarica glass?
Of course. He is wise. He knows.
And He will not let us off.
No I can not think. I shall not think.

Just the oars- up and down and up and down
Splishing away the minutes or hours or days.
My thoughts will wait.
The world will have to wait
For our boatman holds the oars.