Watch Shop (a poem)

My hands in pockets with non-ticking watches
Gazing at display of fine shining metals,
Exposed to raw, cool elements
The value they command as complete units
Naked with neither will nor wallet to offer.

The unnamed figure behind the counter
Guarding the fixtures he first fitted
Heated by a cycle of human custom
The potential exchange for paper
Bound by unnecessary expectation for excess.

A selection of faces to glean
Thinking every moment the same
Spread along a clear space within a void
The various tags for all sizes and shapes
Detached straps from wrists without rule.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s