The clock clapped his hands
and told the time to go **** itself,
while the walls stood wobbling,
scared of the confrontation.
The telly turned herself off,
for fear of adding to the noise
while the lights flickered
as they thought of something to say.
But still, time marched on.
The clock made two fists
and waved them with fervour
as the walls tried to hide
behind their hangings and features.
They telly, still silent,
cowered quietly in the corner,
and the light bulbs no longer
had any bright ideas to voice.
Time marched on, uncaring.