Daylight Savings Time

by John Flynn


appears in our lives

like a thief in the night

in March after the

high school tourneys.

Coming as it does,

like a thief in the

middle of the night,

few notice until the                            

alarum resounds                  

the morning after.

from which there                   

is no pill; just the                      

recurring thought                 

that once again

you don’t know

what the hell

just happened.

But I’ll go along    

and wait ‘til fall

to make a stand.

Meanwhile I set all

my new poems

ahead one hour.