As the sand on the upper bulb
Of the hourglass
Trickles down to the lower bulb
Two friends watch.
They sit in chairs on opposite sides
Of a square table.
Their gazes drift from each other
To the hourglass
As the sand in the upper bulb
Diminishes to a miniscule amount.
One friend stretches languidly
And reaches for the hourglass.
Just as the last few granules of sand
Are drifting to the crevasse below,
An oily hand flips the hour glass over,
And sand grains trickle
Back to where they came
As the sand grains come perilously close to cease trickling,
The other friend flips over the hourglass,
Their black robe covering all but
Their bony hand.
The friends look at each other
Then turn their heads away from their gameboard
To the frail old man
Coughing and wheezing in his empty home.
The friends wonder when they will
Tire of this game
And move on to the next.