The clock boring his brain,
the clock striking pain in his forehead,
the clock cutting his ears.
Constantly, the clock,
from cupboard to cupboard,
clocking.

Time, though, measure out
a sweet surpise- a
DING
for the cooking oil in the cookie mold
welded shut the wound-up clock.

Grandfather,
savoring the silence,
sighed,
his tired eyes snuggling in their sockets.
He handled his coffee cup for another sip.
He hesitated,
seeing the cup barely full, seeing
the cup almost empty.

Did he want to sit in silence, eat in silence,
when silence was all the future could guarantee?
Did he want the clock to stop?
When time would not?
When their time would?
What did he want?
"Pour us another cup."