Today, I dropped an hour
by the side of a busy road.
I did not pause to reconsider
but simply left it lying there,
abandoned amongst butts, crushed cans
and spat-out wads of gum.
Later – through the evening news – I learned
that my hour had been found and used.
A young boy – an aspiring
traffic-window-washer –
had spotted it, pocketed it
and spent it straight away.
An extra hour in his day
and he'd bested fate; defied
his high-stacked odds.
He smiled widely, but his grateful face
held great contempt as well: for me.
I sat, unmoving,
no longer watching,
but musing on my hour, gone;
wondering – shamefacedly –
with it, what could I have done?
Gareth Trew
3 comments:
Gareth Trew is twenty-two years old and perpetually confused. He has been writing for most of his life, but only seriously for the last year or so; he currently has a few publications to his name. In addition to creative writing, Gareth is also keenly interested in the performing arts, particularly acting
There's nothing confused about this piece- it's straight up awesomeness. Well done, Gareth.
You've made me think.
I liked this poem a lot. Its conceit is interesting. The poem is also a lesson, perhaps? Never drop your time carelessly -- otherwise, like the persona we'll be left 'shamefaced' and wondering, 'with it, what could I have done?'
Post a Comment