The Stubborn Click

Click—tick—click—the timer fights

against the thick, smoky air.

Dinner burns and patience frays,

the stubborn ring breaks through

my scatterbrained haze.

Three rings — a clap of insistence,

a voice cutting through clutter,

a clock that won’t stop demanding

I face the mess I made.

Hands frozen over peeling potatoes,

every minute stretching long,

since the first smell of burning woke me up.

The timer clicks like a pulse,

reminding me what’s left undone.

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Click—the stubborn sound

that won’t let the silence grow.