The Watch

The Watch
they sold his watch after the wake
What need had he of time!
Those long hard hours he had laboured
Just to own the gold
Weeks and months of sweat
And penny pinching poverty
No healing pint with late pub pals
After the dark pit
The cold coal
No baccy for his pipe
He had squirreled every silver threpenny away
Saved close against the day
His coins were tall enough
To buy that watch
He wore it proud
Upon his fathers polished Albert
Tucked tight against his wasted flesh
His cough had rattled every link
All day it seemed
All night
The soft sound soothed the crackle of his breathing
Until it stopped
The watch ticked on alone
Without percussion
without accompaniment
The silence around that tick
Marked how the man was missed
They sold the watch
And all the toil and time it took to buy
To someone quite unknown
Unknowing of its price.


 Ronnie Dorsey. March 12. 2011