Reynold's Number

August 3, 2020 poetry

I have no quarrel with time.
I float, flow, will sink, not sync.
Time herself has the indifference
Of a schoolboy’s secret crush,
We stand invisible in suspense
That perhaps the usual rules
Will be suspended, in our case,
And the surprise will be more time,
Time long after we weary of it
As we wearied of childhood and
Its fabled happiness of endless
August cut off from recess.