Hear the spirit on the stairs, the ticking
of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
It’s your choice. Which are you picking?
Does this have anything, nothing to say?
Hear mummers ring the changes, last call.
Starting again from the final note, licking
blistered fingers, thinking about their fall.
Their final stop, leaves that they’re kicking.
Hear scratching of an old record, sticking.
The notes or words which time will stall.
Did your carelessness cause that nicking?
Do you stop, push past the stick, your call?