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The Clock I slouch in front of my computer and glance at the clock And sigh. My eyes wander to the window And back to the clock. I sigh again. I stare determinedly at the long black hands of the clock, Willing them to tick faster, Tocker quicker, But they continue moving at the same constant, infuriatingly slow pace. As regular as clockwork. I gaze longingly at the door And fantasize making a run for it And escaping. I glance again at the unyielding clock. Its steady hands have moved a mere 1 minute and 17 seconds. I sigh once more And peek at my watch. Perhaps it will be kinder to me And tell me that more time has passed. But according to my annoying timepiece, Only 52 seconds have gone by. My shoulders sag and I sigh. I reluctantly focus my waning attention On my computer and return to my work. The clock has won. 
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