Dave Bonta's three-line poem sketches a moment of empty time. The title, "Day planner," suggests a schedule meant to organize and fill our hours, but what the speaker finds is an afternoon with nothing in it. The clock is "dark with tocking," a strange, compressed image. The ticking seems to have piled up until it blots out everything else, so time becomes a heavy, dim presence instead of a useful tool. Then the afternoon is "cold ash," something that once burned and is now spent, with no warmth left.
The last line, "I keep poor company," turns the poem inward. The speaker is alone, and the only company is their own mind, or perhaps the clock and the ash. The phrase carries a dry, self-critical humor, but it also stings. The mood is quiet, bleak, and a little restless, like the feeling of sitting through a dull stretch of the day when the plans have run out and you are left with yourself.