The Doctor Hour
Date: Sunday, 18th June 2017 @ 11:31:34 PM AEST Topic: Sad Poetry
Contributed By: invierno
Creme colored couch,
horn rimmed glasses bought
to bring out the owl.
Perched in his nest of black leather,
ears attenuated for an appropriate
lean in to a howl.
That piece of paper
in fancy Gothic font
placed just so above that owlish head
for vertical couch prey to see,
if they want.
Just when the pauses seemed pregnant
with solution,
(this damn dam is about to break!)
the couch began vibrating,
and the maniac’s laugh escaped my lungs
as the pen poised owl first stole to his watch,
then the fifty minute timer,
and did not speak,
but his eyes conveyed;
“Your hour is up. Let’s revisit this next week.”
This poem is Copyright © invierno
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