Mary Ellen Talley
The grandfather clock knows all about dissection. Frogs stop ticking quicker than chickens. A tight man inside keeps dropping parts as he stretches the well-oiled wood. Pulsing metal grates his ears, so he paints aging gears with soothing lavender, which does help as the tight man resides at the bottom of the tall wood enclosure. His suspenders are rusted from chicken drippings. The tight man clasps a slender paintbrush to dab upon the metal’s grinding edges. His hair is thinning. He intuits each conceit of the pendulum’s trance. The tight man holds his pocketknife deftly to avoid adding vermillion to his rhythmic appendage.
About the Author
Mary Ellen Talley’s poems have recently been published in Banshee, Beir Bua, The Plague Papers and Ekphrastic Review as well as in several anthologies. Her poems have received three Pushcart nominations and her chapbook, “Postcards from the Lilac City” was published by Finishing Line Press in 2020.