A poem I did for my creative writing class last year.
She looks at her bedside alarm clock.
Electric blue numbers flash mockingly,
11:11, 11:11, make a wish, make a wish.
If wishes were fishes, she'd have an ocean now.
But plenty of fish in the sea still isn't enough,
And long fingers grope, reaching for five extra minutes of relief.
She looks at the tarnished wristwatch,
And the silver minute hand laughs,
Tick, Tick, Tick. Moving so slowly it's almost going backwards.
The bracelets on her wrist giggle too,
Memories from long ago, made with friends who no longer exist,
Except in the dusty photo albums, untouched for years.
She looks at the clock in the car,
And digital green numbers look back,
If only a real person could stare at her.
But no real person can keep her awake in this traffic.
She turns the thermostat down another five degrees.
It's the only way she can stay conscious.
She looks at the time on the news,
The anchors chatting in the background.
A murder, an hour ago, and two blocks away.
Her inner-city apartment is sealed up tighter that night,
And her only companion in bed is his old baseball bat.
Not the same, but at least she feels safe.
She looks at the bedside clock.
The living room phone rings. Grudgingly, she crawls out of bed.
Human contact at last! Love, at last!
The younger her hated talking on the phone, the older relishes it.
"Hello? ... This is she…Buy what from you? ... Sorry, I'm not interested."
She hangs up angrily. So much for love.