Samantha O'Clock

What isn't a clock?
If it breathes, it has pulse.
It it has pulse, it's a clock.
Time is pause. Time, also, is weathering.

When I worked New York,
I'd stare the night long the tower in Lower Manhattan,
the one which flashed its beacons to the 4 points of the compass.
By a week, I missed the fire works on the Hudson.

I was playing a club in Morocco when 911 changed the world.
Through tinkling glasses and nicotine veils,
an expat regular would mumble; "Play it again, Samantha,"
to which I'd reply; "I just did, Mr. Bogart."

From Weehawken to Casablanca;
from Casablanca to Port Everglades,
from Sam to Samantha.
What isn't a clock?
You tell me, Nostradamus.