Watchful Irony
8 August 2008
7.56 P.M.

I look down at the broken
Watch on my wrist
And laugh at the irony.

The silver around the
Quartz face is tarnished:
Blemished, imperfect, rusty.

The quartz is broken, cracked
Tiny lines lead from the
Center to the silver casing

It once was beautiful.
Shiny, new, and useful
Unmarred by the harsh world

Constant use has abused it
Turned beauty to its opposite—
Imperfection at its highest

Yet the hands still turn
An unknown force yet encourages
Its mechanical heart to still beat

I watch the second hand tick
Coaxing its companion around
The disgustingly broken face

I laugh again at the bitter irony
Thinking my watch and I
Have a lot in common.