set the wall clock whatever speed she
wants, one of those dials takes a
hurry up and hands
whip around like the spokes in a wheel
changes of light
throb off and on furiously
everybody is mad with fake
minutes barely get
closed before screaming at you
through the schedule twenty times
to the breaking point, and
that clock dial
finally got tired
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Erasure poem from ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’, by Ken Kesey, 1962.
Henry is a writer of all types of fiction based in Somerset in the UK. He has a PhD in creative writing from the University of Birmingham and runs a writing support group for people with mental health issues. His work has been in entropy, 50WordStories, Bloodaxe, The Ekphrastic Review, thedrabble and FridayFlashFiction among other places.