The Wristwatch

She bought a watch from the jeweller’s shop.

Exquisite, elegant, grand.

Plated with gold, for the world to behold,

an emblem of her wealth.

Like a timeless Venus de Milo

fastened there on her pedestal-wrist.

And the sound of it followed her, 

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick.

She treasured the watch from the jeweller’s shop,

Delicate, gleaming, bright.

The clock-face wound, the hands went round,

Announcing her affluence and worth.

As the moons orbit their harbouring planets, 

Its gears revolved around her axle-wrist.  

And its echo declared her dominance,

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick.

She exalted the watch from the jeweller’s shop,

Powerful, stately, fair. 

She polished its face, she cleansed its case, 

And flaunted her inmost desire.

When she wore it, the ticking grew louder,

and sometimes she swore it came from within.

The pulse of her material heartbeat.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick.