Winston Churchill's Pocket Watch

Winston Churchill’s Pocket Watch

by Laura Summerville Reed

I can see the back of my head

with my own hands.

I take its inventory from a distance.

I mustn’t get too close and let you notice.

You think you’re the only one watching me.

Don’t want to steal your thunder later

when you let me know my ass was out of line.

(I’ll go get that fixed and a tune-up, too!)

I see the back of my head

with my fingers, I can stick them in.

There are dark spots and holes

where the pieces used to fit.

A puzzle, garnering puzzled glances

(My cat and the neighbors are starting to compare notes.)

With surgical precision

I cut that tortured pound of flesh free

and left the other one hundred and four

to bleed out.

The blood loss is going to keep me here

so I’ll stand my ground

until the paper airplanes fly it all away.

Make me an offer

I can't refuse.

I'm a practical girl

When I’m practically speaking.

Oh! But how that glare amuses me when the dark spots speak up,

(hand me a band-aid, I think I’ve cut myself.)

I once had something valuable to barter with.

The secret ingredient.

A small treasure.

The Philosopher’s Stone.

(There’s just no substitute for real butter.)

I wore it upon me

Like Winston Churchill's pocket watch

Ticking off the years by seconds.

I've lived so long in the rose petals that you brought me

I never thought to learn

To tend a garden of my own.

Now I’m standing on the tarmac of Ill-Prepared

And the gate’s already closed.

All the written rules and times and dates were very clearly posted.

There are dandelions pushing through this cracked asphalt,

(But Winston Churchill’s pocket watch stopped ticking; how was I to know?)

©LSR 2010