‘May 2012’

The clock chimes every 1/4 hour
My watch doesn’t – on strike,
it’s ticking backwards.

‘Light moisturising handcream’
tries in vain to hide the troughs
in skin and bridge crevasses:
like an ice bridge, it’s temporary
and not to be trusted
with the weight of a life.

The clock strikes four.
It’s cold outside.
Another winter is on its way.