It’s Tuesday and I’m doing Tuesday things;
tomorrow, I’ll do Wednesday things in turn.
My days are free from friction and from swings
in my momentum, free of all concern.
A wheel still spinning from a former push,
uncoupled from all other wheels and cogs
I suffer neither deadline nor the rush
of faster spinning shafts. No bumps or jogs
from larger wheels impede my pace,
the days alone determine how I spin.
I’ve long ago inscribed the arc I traced,
my work is done. With nothing to begin,
time turns me from a gerund to a noun,
and all my spinning is just spinning down.
©WILLIAM JOHN WATKINS (4/12/11, 7/30/11)
William John Watkins 