Strategy Meeting

I watch my life go by

In factors of sixty.

That little rotating stick,

The flashing colon,

The unending count

Of passing seconds.

No matter how angry the birds,

How many temples I fail to escape,

Or how many aces lay buried

Beneath twos of their own suit,

The hand will not speed up.

My hopes, and my battery, are dead.

When will this meeting end?

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