Numbers Game

What world would it be

if every clock that I see

displays numbers in pairs

but only to me?

It’s twelve twelve again

but then of course it is,

my last glance at the time

showed it was six o’ six.

What can this all mean?

My memory’s selective?

I know when I look

my thoughts are collected.

A sign from above?

The time is now?

A pairing I need

to unfurrow my brow?

But unfurrowed it’s not,

it’s more wrinkled in fact.

I fear every clock

will spur me on to some act.

What act would it be?

Something spontaneous I suppose?

And when will I know,

it’s these numbers, not those?

Nothing could be worse

than to act out of time.

Is eight o’ eight better,

than nine minutes past nine?

There’s only one thing to do

to end this dilemma.

That’s to smash every clock

with my pointy umbrella.

Time waits for no man.

That’s very plain to see.

With every crack of a clock,

I set myself free..