time in poetry

time nocks at the string and
flexes the bow and
where you end up
even time doesn’t know
hope the arc is true to fate
or at least to you

time makes the pitch
but that’s not all
you’re not the batter
you are the ball
life is the bat
the hitter is space
you scream toward the backstop
watch out for your face

but it’s okay
we’re all riding the same goddamned wave
try to be understanding
we’re all out of control
without rules for the game
smile when you can
try to make friends
because time
time won’t be doing you any favours