From the vaults: Weighting for the Weekend

In the post-relativity universe,
where measurement has lost all certainty,
the most flexible unit of time
is the weekend.

From Friday night to Monday morning
time stretches and blurs, contracts and bends.

On end-of-the-working-week Fridays
time slows to a stroll.
and we watch the slow-motion stutter and spin
of the subatomic dance of quarks,
their strangeness and whimsy clearly defined
against the steady electrical hum.

On speedy, partying Saturday nights
time accelerates to breakneck.
Lost in its speed,
we watch the ocean boil
and the volcano-birthing clash of tectonic plates
as the planet re-forms itself.

On lazy, hungover Sunday afternoons
time drags to an almost stop.
At the flick of a switch,
light cascades honey-slow from ceiling to floor,
Einstein’s c reduced to a  billionth
of what it should be.

And on Monday morning time rights itself.
An hour takes an hour, a minute a minute
and we sit and watch our watches,
counting down the second-long seconds,
waiting until next weekend.

Bonus extra unasked-for authorial statement:

Not Quite the Man for the Job, in which this poem first appeared, included a subject index (a nice little gimmick that I carried with me when I started editing Going Down Swinging, which I’m happy to say continued to include subject indices after I stepped down as co-editor) that to my great shame and chagrin includes a listing for one Alfred Einstein. Neither I nor my editor, or the proofreader, picked up the error until it was too late. There was one other science-related error in the book, but that’s an anecdote for another time.


Poet. Author. Beard. Husband. Dad. Four chickens. Dog. Cat. I can sometimes fix my lawnmower.

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Posted in From the vaults, Not Quite the Man for the Job, poems, Published work

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About Adam

I'm a dad and the author of the poetry collections The Third Fruit is a Bird and Not Quite the Man for the Job, the novel Man Bites Dog and the short story collection Heroes and Civilians.
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ta-wit ta-woo
Quelle Grammage!
When I was a younger fella i put lots of swears in me poems... the lovely @benjamindodds scored some anticlinal poetry in the post this week. and so could you if you have a desire for geological poetry zines. just @ me and the magic will happen! "As part of the Warlords of Wor 5th Anniversary Collection, here comes ROCK GOLEM BOG-NAR! With his new IMPENETRABLE GREY GOLEM ARMOUR in place, thanks to his SUPERCHARGED EMERALD SWAMP-SPEAR, the malevolent muck-menace swirls his FOUR-BOULDER BOLO FIST overhead as he commands the very rocks and stones of the planet Wor to go forth and conquer!" #warlordsofwor #bognar "Just in time for the 5th anniversary of Warlords of Wor, here comes CLASSIC SWAMP ATTACK BOG-NAR! With his FOUR-FISTED SLIMEPACK mounted on his back and his MYSTICAL MUCK-SPEAR, the King of All Bogs has never been a more ominous opponent!"
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