A different kind of watch
Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . .
my watch, like a maestro, jerks his baton,
he taps each of sixty marks –
an endless perfect circle,
one turning twitch at a time.
The minute and hour’s slender hands
move mutely, routinely, blindly
retracing their lock-step march; no
complaints and no applause (except once an hour),
around and over and under they go.
The metronome master whips his lash,
without a rest, no swell or decrescendo,
no ebb and flow, no rhythm change,
just endless drone, driven, obsessed to
ever dig its center heartless hole.
I think I need a new — no, a different kind of
watch that moves by non-metallic pulse
and beats a rhythmic Heart.
Like a boxer, baring fists, in fits and starts –
with rapid-fire blows, then dog-tired holds.
I know I cannot keep this whirring pace forever;
at last I know I’ll yield the button cell
to buzz no more – lying in its cozy coffin.
I know I need to take a rest anyway . . .
sometime.
–David Herin