Guest Poet Inaya I. Nasser
Time
Sagging seats
Threadbare armrests,
Dull paint,
Scratched walls,
Roughened corners
Black and white
Snapshots,
Pages
Yellow
Full of moth,
Piles and piles
Books everywhere,
Shelves
Sated,
Dining table
Coffee table
Reclining chair
Heaving,
Plastic bags
Paper bags
Straw bags
Even
Framed eye bags
Puffed
More so
With every smile,
Least needed,
Resting on the wall
Facing me,
Running,
Seconds
Minutes,
Ticking with precision,
Was an obscene clock.
May, 2001
Inaya I. Nasser's Questions:
Is it clear that I am talking about a person in this poem but in a very subtle way?
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