Rhythm

Every Sunday the key resists
just a little: reminds me
to take care, not over-wind;

on each hour, the chime spring
rustles, limbering up
before hammer hits gong;

I regulate the mainspring
when it tightens in winter nights
and expands during summer days;

the gentle pendulum rocks;
another heartbeat
in the house.

Like my grandfather,
my father, my mother,
I will not know which chime
is the last I hear.

- Lesley Burt

Third Prize Winner, Lupus UK International Poetry Competition 2011