BY PETER BRADLEY
Inside the cuckoo clock
he sits in claustrophobic silence
oblivious to the metronome ticking and
the soft clicking of the cog toothed gears
as the slipping of the pawl sets his universe unwinding
he thinks he understands his cuckoo bird life.
But somewhere in an alternate universe
a clock face smiles knowingly
as its hands move round and round,
each second turning into hours,
and hours into eternity as the cuckoo bird sits and
anxiously awaits the command to sing.