Tick, tick, tick…
A cyclist whisks by
in the open night air. Wind blows
through the towering Sycamore, garnishing

the wet pavement with countless leaves,
lifeless and crumbling. The leaves dance
upon the pavement, breaking all laws of rhythm.
Yet inside, the metronome remains.

Tick, tick, tick…
A wise man, an anxious man
stares on as life flies past.
His hand greets his pulsating chest…

Tick, tick, tick…
He swivels to find a drunken fool, stumbling
out of the bar, guilty of the musty stench
that clings to his breath. With an open and a close

the door exposes the booming melody that lingers
inside, quickly muffled by the wind’s breath.
Life seems lost
yet the wise man is not at a loss.

How is it that the determined, rushing pace of life
can be so discouraged by the simple
tick, tick, tick…
of a metronome?