‘How about marmite toast’ I said.
‘Perfect’ came a quick reply
and, with a push, a magic toast rack
kick-starts time - he nods his head.
No need for clocks, he’s on his way
when chewing starts a perfect day.
‘You’re luckier than most’ he means
‘but miss the move when life’s imperfect.’
A hand is ticking, ever moving,
clocking now with chances perfect.
Perfect every passing minute,
perfect as a melting snowflake.