2. Gears

The watch’s heart, bared to the world
And the outside air seems strange,
Improper, and crude as it touches the coil,
As it moves – tightened, unfurled –
In a precise repetition; there is no change,
And I know no eyes should eye their toil…

And still I watch inside this watch,
Mesmerized by the gears inside,
As they hook each other, move a notch,
Turning together, synchronized
And I know no eyes should eye, should watch… 

The spring swells, the outer coil spreads
In a movement, fluid and smooth,
And the gears respond, turning each other,
Their notches treading, turning their treads
And one wheel, back and forth, clicks into a groove,
Pushing another, further and further 

And I know no eyes should stare at the bare inside
In such an unseemly way,
No eyes should eye so crudely the womb of this watch,
 But I cannot seem to tear mine away

The End

75 comments about this poem Feed