I forgot to tell you it's almost time to go.
The sun has distilled its particular worn essence
And the glittering trout is flipped on the bow.
A man asks me what time it is. I don't know.
I have emptied my purse and wept in the presence
Of onlookers. I forgot to remember to go
Before eleven, when the steely arrow
Shot swimming to its underneath, tense
As a stream of salmon in reverse below
The laureled, relentless clocks. The sceptered row
Of columns dreams one o'clock, immense,
Inviolate. What time is it? I don't know.
This story concerns the night I tried to go—
Though many times I flopped into the silence
Of orange plastic seating like onto the bow
Of a lonely ship, and felt my breathing slow.
The frail, retreating stand of columns prevents
The clocks from telling me time and time again to go.
At my feet, a glittering trout swims past the bow.
"Grand Central, Track 23" by Elizabeth Skurnick from Check In, published by Caketrain Press. Copyright 2005 by Elizabeth Skurnick. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Source: Check In (Caketrain Press, 2005)