With A Bit Of A Mind Flip…

I’ve spent my Sunday off and on
Inquiring why the sun has gone
Fifteen or so degrees too far
Across the sky for when we are
And being told, repeatedly,
The clocks were changed to PST
At 2 a.m. (the first today)
And that they’re going to stay that way
Until sometime around spring break,
Which I’d have heard were I awake,
But I keep dozing off because–
Hey, why’s the sun not where it was?

Self-Inflicted

The birds don’t seem confused at all.
They wake like any day in fall
And chirp the way they always do;
They flit from tree to tree and poo
And squawk at squirrels whom they hate
As if they’re not an hour late
Or early — who can even tell? —
Unfazed by the temporal hell
Terrestrial bipedal folk
Were thrust into when we awoke.
What care the Western Meadowlarks
That ones and twos regrew like shark’s
Incisors on accursed clocks
And watches up and down the blocks
Of human housing in this state
Where voters choose to change their fate
Two years ago… yet here we are.
The birdbrains aren’t the saps. We are.

Worth Every Minute

Real life took a break from me
A week or two just recently
And that’s how come I’ve not been seen
Inhabiting my staid routine.
But, like Canute’s persistent tide,
A Monday cannot be denied
Forever, but at best delayed:
An hour’s all the dent I made
With fourteen days’ momentum spent.
And that’s where my vacation went.