Summary: It is a poem about me who is mad to the clock because it does not give me more time.
People are busy eating a bucket of task at 22.30
Musty feeling ruins, doing a nonsense chore feels lazy
Thinking how long it takes by saying what on earth
Sitting with the laptop with the tabs open,
I look at the browser, listen to music, finish.
I start myself wondering that
I am a busy girl at night
I live every hour
And I am glad to realize that.
Brother stays up all night to watch movies, all the football stuffs,
To eat nuts, to boo,
To scream, and then falls asleep
22.30 is really a ‘me’ time for him.
TV turns suck somehow
Why? Oh, why? He asks
Commercial, you are a long movie and a bug
Poor you, poor me, I say.
Kids have slept at 22.30, but time doesn’t matter for them
Sure, they are sleeping is parents’ consciousness, they go downstairs
The child pretends to sleep
Giggling happily, falling asleep
Children are questionable, they are just a kid who
Just want to spend their childhood
Missing my childhood, why cannot I go back to the 3-year-old me?
The visibility of night at 22.30 appears when
Pansy men walk on the sidewalk, drunken people
Destroy public properties; Tramps hang on the sidewalk,
Beggars sleep on the sidewalk, Singers sing on the traffic light,
Tacky youths pedal their motorcycle
What a night!
Sometimes scary though
Ghosts hang around in the cemetery,
In the haunted place,
In front of us
And even in the inside,
Do not rush just pray as I say to myself
Though, I am scared.
Night defines itself at 22.30
The cold temperature thrills me, the hiss thrills me
Crickets sound and silent while owls hum and sob
Bats fly and hang on the tree
That man beside my house is surprised
At the rotten fruit he finds.
When every door is closed
Malls and schools are closed
Gates and houses are locked
All are closed indeed
No noisy sounds and bright lights
A silence sound and a dark light only.
Then it turns out to be 23.00
Good Lord is the only word I say to the clock
My parents are in their room;
My brothers are dreaming about
Yesterday and tomorrow;
I still murmur with my laptop opens,
And my eyes begin to sore, sleepy eyes,
And I nod because of devil’s whisper
Oh, come on, I shout and slowly,
The clock turns out to be 23.30.
I do not want to wait any longer
I am eager to say this to you
I am not a lazy person
I can move, just like you
I am just waiting the perfect time
To eat these bunch of tasks ‘cause
Night leads my idea, and
Makes me sleepy.
Hey, I do not understand you
What a punctual person you are!
You have those smart things which
I do not have in me
I need a break
Please give me a break right away, time!
Give me time to sleep in peace!
Thank you to Yuli Triastuti and Sisca Delani for correcting my grammar and suggesting the right diction.
– Frost, Robert. 1916. Out, Out. Retrieved March, 18, 2014, from http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/238122.
– Woodson, J. (2003). Locomotion. United States: Penguin Books.
Word count: (503)