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Jan 2010
The back hides a smiling face smirking
quietly
at us as it announces the sun.
The gray sheen of its metal membrane twinkles
dully
inviting us to hurl it to the floor.
Its uneven ticking
a stumbling old man
Then silence.
Its life spun out by the twirling blades
The minute hand creeps
stealthily
unnoticed by irritated ears
                                                  until you notice your life has
passed
you
by.
Written by
Angela Zhang
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