What Time It Gets To Be

I was just getting to that.

But first, old age.

If you could just let me finish.

Once it was I who rudely

interrupted proceedings: the chair rapped

& called to order, but I seized from pending

approval the minutes & ran

off with the handsome mustachioed

night watch. Matching wits we wound up

jangling on a motel

bureau in simultaneous

alarm & ran down

together to silence,

Bide-a-Wee’s appointed

guest in his sleep deceased

so far from home he didn’t know

a soul. A what? We heard  

Gideons rustling in the drawer,

& as we rifled the fellow’s bags before we fled,

& fled, his time flew too,

from his cuffs & collars flapping ahead.