The clock declares it’s almost two,
With confidence entirely untrue.
It skips ahead, then drags behind,
A criminal untroubled by time.
At dawn it rushes me in fear,
At night it whispers, “You’re still early here.”
I check my phone, I check again,
The clock insists it knows me best.
It blames the power, blames the light,
Blames walls for holding it too tight.
Yet when I’m late, it smiles polite,
As if delays bring it delight.
Guests arrive before they should,
Because the clock said “now is good.”
Apologies pile on the floor,
The clock ticks on, ashamed no more.
Still every day I wind it straight,
Trusting lies that dictate fate.
A fraud with numbers bold and clean,
The loudest liar I’ve ever seen.
