faces his recliner towards the corner
of a brown, paneled living room.
this is how my subconscious built the memory–faceless.
and it's my only one of him. but his Jaeger-LeCoultre
wristwatch for five years of service with Tulsair
teaches me history.
and the family lore of persistence.
the crystal is chipped from the inside,
four layers of unreachable dust coat the face,
and a forest of rust has grown over the hands
into the white inlay.
in the decay is new-found freedom
of forgoing formality, of wearing your sunday best
to change the oil, and of a wholehearted
lack of delicacy.
today, a gold watch from Reasor's for my five years.
and I'll scratch the glass, neglect the band
and break it in
in family tradition.
