Relic - Dec 13 2022

 

Relic

Dec 13 2022

In the small shop

clocks covered the walls,

ticking and tocking

and whirring softly,

grandfathers chiming

and cuckoos calling out time.

A cacophony

of discordant sounds

and disconcerting rhythms.

But somehow, this random symphony

made a lovely impression

the moment you stepped through the door,

like entering another dimension

of space and time;

a relic of a past

we may soon forget.

Their decorative faces

were every shape imaginable,

numbered in roman numerals

or classic 1s and 2s,

in regular dots and dashes,

eye-catching graphics,

or fanciful abstracts.

There were mechanical clocks

with finely calibrated works,

and electronic ones

that oh-so quietly purred,

digits flipping and flashing

as they kept meticulous track.

But time was not money here.

Behind the counter

the white-haired man with the big moustache

was heavy-set

and deliberate.

He was clearly in no rush,

chatting with the customers

and fussing over repairs,

taking long lunches

and closing shop each Monday.

His big hands

swallowed up my broken watch

as he carefully assessed it.

Sentimental value

I offered

as if to apologize.

Ready in a month, he said,

with a reassuring smile,

ever so gently cradling it

and entering it into the backlog.

Who knew

shops like this still exist?

Because nobody needs a watch these days;

immersed in virtual time

with no chance of losing track

and too little of it left.

The hands

of an analog clock

going nowhere fast,

never-ending circles

ending up where they began.