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.

Advertisements
About

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

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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

ta-wit-ta-woo
Quelle Grammage!
only a fan of 2/3s of the folk in this pic but mesmerised by the story @angustrumble relates below it. . . . I watched last evening’s general election coverage (ABC, natch) in the company of a high Commonwealth official, among others in an undisclosed location, whose name, it soon emerged, may not appear on the electoral roll for reasons of national security. I confess that gave me a bit of a thrill. Canberra: Bless! However, it was also fascinating, extraordinary, in due course to witness that person’s several mobile phones evidently going bonkers, and the measured plans, contingencies, forecasts, blue books of an entire federal bureaucracy duly (one presumed) shredded, turned upside down, just like that. Nothing at all was said, I should emphasise. One simply observed the body language, which was moderately graphic. Whichever way you look at it, this has been an astounding personal victory for Prime Minister Scott Morrison. He believes in miracles, the sexy thing. Pre-polling methodologies in this country, meanwhile, have quite obviously met with serial unforced error on a colossal, epic scale. Who would ever pay them good money again? On my way home, I collided with the (ex-)campaign manager of one of the independent ACT Senate candidates who was alone, drunk and in despair. The campaign manager, that is, not the candidate. This was at about half past eleven on the corner of Jardine and Eyre Streets in Kingston, right next to the rubbish tin, you know, the rectangular green one. He told me he wanted to burn everything down, which was worrying enough, but then he suddenly hurled his mobile phone into the gutter—smashed it to bits—and staggered off into the night. I found myself wondering: Who would touch politics with a barge pole? I should add that this frightening encounter left me, literally, picking up his bits and bobs, then dutifully popping them in the bin. Responsible, me. Back home, I had a cuppa and played patience. I’m not kidding. . . . #Repost @angustrumble with @make_repost
A chance op shop encounter with this Death Liger Lion of Chaos duelmasters card case has done NOTHING to help my attempts to not buy one of this sucker’s namesake toys on ebay. #duelmasters #deathliger #deathligerlionofchaos #metalasfuck #toys
Thursday morning tableau
They come up after rain. I often wonder how they feel lying under the ground at right angles to their purpose. #chewton #railspike
%d bloggers like this: