It’s Saturday. I wake up to the blaring bellows of my father
And the deafening drones of my mother
Demanding me to get up. When I hear the church bells
Ringing, ringing, ringing, I hasten to put on my favorite aqua dress,
As the dongs of our clock
Bulldoze me out of the house, and into the sun.
The broiling, marigold rays of the sun
Penetrate through the car windows, blinding my father
As we journey to church. The neon-green clock
Above the radio screams 10 o’clock, and so does my mother.
Feeling guilty, I just look down at my dress,
Trying to block out the reverberating taunts of the bells.
“It’s late! It’s late!” mock the bells.
And I know it’s all my fault. I look out at the sun,
Its rays illuminating my dress,
Hoping to find comfort as the constant grumbles of my father
And the perpetual guilt from my mother
Devour me whole. Time speeds on as I glance at the clock.
“Tick-tock! Tick-tock!” heckles the clock,
As the eerie echoes of the bells,
Added to the anxieties of my father and mother,
All blame me for our tardiness. The bright, smiling sun
Is my counselor—warming the cold, spear-like words from my father.
Again, I just stare down at my dress.
The vibrant, floral colors of my ocean blue dress
Distract me from the racing clock,
While my mother and father,
Silent now, finally look to the road. The bells
Are my enemies, whereas the sun
Is my only friend. Slowly, tensions are released from my father and mother.
Irritated like an unfed gorilla, my mother
Commands my father to accelerate, soaking my dress
With the water I was drinking. However, the sun
Happily drinks up the spillage. Soon, the tired clock,
Along with the deceased bells,
Finally lapses, as the door slams shut behind my father.
At last, the sweaty palms of my father, stained with the scent of rubber, escort my mother
Into church, where the bells of song fill the sanctuary. I, with my dehydrated dress,
Walk alongside them as the clock chimes its finale, leaving behind the friendly rays of the sun.