That Damn Alarm Clock

That damn alarm clock

It was past noon
that awful Monday morning
I hadn't awoken from
my awful Sunday sleep

Alarm clock near the bed
rang and rang and rang
I whacked at it. And
I missed. Now I'm awake.

It's still ringing. It's
still ringing. And I know
now she's gone. I slam
my fist into it's face.

It squeals in pain
as the seconds-hand halves.
Again and again 'til
I only hear faint clicks.

Time ticks past without
the squeals of alarm. Just
like when last I saw her
buried in that box.