Clarence, You Old Cad!

Boredom
By Clarence Bottums

How to fill a day?
How to fill a day?
The day is full, you fool, already.

How to stop a watch?
How to stop a watch?
The hands move, you slug, as you sleep.

The day is a watchdog, the night is a sparrow.
The grave is a memory, the hill too steep.
Time washes all wounds, time waits for Noman.
Time plays the mute with the man who’s too deep.

Dear Clarence,
Too deep, you say? Not deep enough by half, I retort! And justly so, seeing as how you, lost in your great depth, have not seen fit to write me for a year and a half. We, and I use we in both the Royal and Commoner sense, have missed your half-scrambled scribblings. How is the watch-bob repair business going? Or have you moved on to greener pastures? One would think, if indeed watches are still your trade, that you would know it was high time for you to come see me. You see, I, in my dithering old age, still remember fondly the numerous times, too numerous to count, that I handed you a veritable verbal smackdown. And you, you old codswallop, you came back into the arena each time: bloodier, but none the wiser. My versification creates new nations, your tired old verse was dragged away in that hearse!
Now, not to beat the proverbial horse, but I sincerely hope you are pulling my leg with this drivel. You may be earning a decent living, but you have still not learned how to earn a metaphor. Where did this sparrow come from? Why not a crow or a partridge? “The night is a partridge”. Has a ring to it don’t you think? And who is this “Noman”? How would one know, given that he likes to pop in unannounced in the middle of a perfectly good cliché and then drop out, never to be heard from again? Reminds me of someone I once thought I knew.

P.S. Double space your submissions Sonneteers, my eyes are not what you think they used to be!