-The World Clock-

Fall River:

Today, 8:25 AM.

Making adjustments.
There are possibilities beyond the margins.

Los Angeles:

5:25 AM. Today, minus 3 hours.

Close relations are stepping out of bed in Los Angeles,

activating the commonness of morning rituals.

They'll shower and groom themselves

to a ready finish, topping-off the travel-mugs on the run.
It's justifiable. They're young enough to be in a hurry.

Paris:

2:25 PM. Today, plus 6 hours.

The brunch crowd drifts from the Champs-Élysées.

I hear the French have a passion for their pastries

to go along with their firm distaste for Americans.

Tokyo:

10:25 PM. Today, plus 14 hours.

What could the madding Japanese be running from now?

During the countdown nearing the end of World War 2,
long before the arrival of the heavy-footed fire breather,
Tokyo was burning beneath the bomb-bloated bellies of American B-29s.
The date was November 17, 1944.

Madrid:

2:25 PM. Today, plus 6 hours.

In time for the bullfights!

We see Picasso in the arena with Jaqueline
and Paloma–– and there's Jean Cocteau in a surprise
guest appearance!

Christ, how the lance thrusts
downward for its blood; shaft wrapped in ribbon.
There’s got to be a reason for the pomp,

but I'm too lazy to make inquiries, and besides,

the World Clock moves at its own mysterious pace, not mine.