Mateo Puccio

Staring at the Seconds

I am always alone, perched on the wall

Stared at by most kids 

dusty, old

and never dared to be touched 

Three arms move within me 

Some slower than others 

As my silver arms move along 

The stares follow

No appreciation 

Just stares after stares 

almost seeing through me 

Though giving the time 

As time goes by

I hear a loud ring 

All the sudden a small kid darts out like a fly

But some walk out slowly, even saying a gentle goodbye

I view the room in rows of desks

Lined up like soldiers in World War l 

Then the bell rings again

And the kids return

And in a snap fingers

The rancid smell arrives

Seventeen boys smelling like stinky socks

Almost plugging my nose with my hour hand

But soon the smell goes away

And they come back the next day