fob watch

 

A grey mood perpetrated the inner

Workings of each fob. They ground

Slowly to a halt, each tick, tick, tick

Lasting longer than a minute.

 

They should have been

Wound.

Brought to life with vigor

From a tiny key

– one size fits all –

Turn, turn, turn.

Instead they lay dormant

Stagnant

Tarnished

By old ways

By old people

By tens of eyes that watch

Them every day

Passing them over

As inconsequential moments

Of a past much less

Like today

Where turning your wrist

Is work enough.

 

ⓒ giorge thomas

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1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “fob watch

  1. Pingback: published in the cannon’s mouth « giorge thomas

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