mean time

Max Mulgrew

from screaming flocks   
and waves that suck at shingle
from clouds that blur the sky
and the ocean swell of cars
roiling on the road

to fingers turning a watch’s crown
fretting the quick with mainsprings
winding wheels and regulators
clocking the moment that was 
the future and will be the past

across the datelines your lover 
is lost in alien sleep unaware 
you’ve adjusted to the time
you stand alone looking at the sea

The Science

The thoughts behind this poem started when I adjusted my clocks to flip ahead to summer time, or daylight saving time. We play with 'time' when we go forwards or backwards an hour with the seasons. For us time is real because we use it for measuring and calibrating, and ordering our lives. But theoretical physicists question the very nature of time (see link); they ask whether it is fundamental in understanding the universe, or whether it is a result of something else.

The Poet

Max Mulgrew writes poetry, prose and hybrid texts at his home in Birmingham, UK. He is interested in the relationship between philosophy, art and science. His work has appeared in journals including Brittle Star, Firewords, and Poetry Birmingham.

Next poem: Memory Recall by Jennie B. Ziegler