Don’t break my clock

I can hear the ticking in everybody’s chest

Except for him

His clock seems to have stopped working

When he comes close to me

The seasons change rapidly

In my room

And on my streets as I am walking

To a sticky, humid summer

Garbage set out on the curb, 

heated up and rotting

To the dying gasps of fall 

From sleet,

 it runs backwards

He says I’m here

To make you ten years younger

Since you are an aging, single woman

Wouldn’t you love to be 20 again? 

I wouldn’t.

I see my therapy sessions

Not yet existing

I remember myself at 20

Was I pretty?

Very.

Would I go back to that season?

Not for anything.

Don’t come near me!

I tell him

When he does, I scream

And run backward s

Tripping over my feet

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