We measure our days by clocks, calendars, deadlines and routines. Before long, time can begin to feel less like something we manage and more like something that manages us.
This poem follows the rhythm of an ordinary day—and the relentless pressure of time as it ticks, beeps and, ultimately, has the last word.
Time
The image is by Zohreh Fatemi.
Audio — Time — spoken‑rap delivery
Time
Time to stay
time to go
time to do this
time to do
that
time to
work
clock on
clock off
clean
the flat
wash dishes
look at the
clock face
ticks
beeps
tick-tock
need to
quicken my pace
Fuck.
that time
already
time is god
time is king
it’s the thing
that rules
time to pick kids up
from school
what do you think
sorry
haven’t got time to—
need a drink
need time to think
go to the pub
it’s closing
the bell rings
Time.
—Lesley Scoble, July 2026
Acknowledgements
My thanks to Melissa Lemay, whose Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge #382 sparked my rap poem Time.
The photo prompt’s image is by Zohreh Fatemi.
And my thanks to you, the reader, for being here.
LesleyScoble.com 
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