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new years eve, twenty four time zones. is richard clark tired?
by Andrew S Adamsit starts as a silhouette staring at a TV screen
watching midnight on new years eve; watch it
repeat itself. The room is quiet, the sound:
fivefourthreetwoone, on to the next time zone.
this has happened twenty three times over,
until we get to here:
the excitement of living on the edge of the world is getting tiresome.
as a clock strikes twelve, the air is stale from
tired parties and endless escapades.
Balloons, sagging in the corner, almost
hungover as the rest of us; they are ghosts,
grasping at life. we share the bottle. 08/19/2004 Posted on 08/20/2004
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/31/09 at 04:05 PM "Balloons, sagging in the corner, almost
hungover as the rest of us; they are ghosts,
grasping at life" - loved this. I assume you are referring to $#%@ Clark? Richard Clark threw me for a loop ;). I liked your mid sentence line very much - an amusing though thoughtful look at how some view this end-of-year ritual. Thank you. |
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