318 - I hear the march of time, a distant drum

I hear the march of time, a distant drum
Beat, coming from a nearby house or flat;
A young lad with energy, and then some,
Strikes hard against the stoic skin - rat tat!
The clock, the drum, the pulse, dividing that
Which wasn’t there before, immeasurable;
How long’s infinity? When I am sat
On a park bench, I don’t count the people,
Or leaves on trees, or stone-produced ripple.
I know we count our lovers as they come
And go, but not the booze or chocolate.
After a while, the interest grows feeble,
And the boy stops, or is lost in the hum
Of traffic and lawnmower opiate.
Thur 19 July 2007