ruminating while rustling through
old things in a drawer,
i came across an old pocket watch
it’s in the clock shop now;
the bespectacled balding man
said
he might put it in working order
in short order:
the watch holds memories.

i went to an old haunt tonight
after finding the watch;
people sitting around the piano bar:
no bellowing laughs,
all demure titters
appropriate for a piano bar,
titters for titillation:
sad, lonely.

walking home, taking a detour
along the beach;
deserted at night, the breakers
froth and roar;
removing my shoes, 
tossing them over my shoulder,
i walk through the shallows;
the briny sea seems warm
on my bare feet in the swirling sand.
my thoughts boil down to happiness;

you are the breakers on the sand
the watch ticking quietly,
no titters for titillation:
pure unleashed laughter.

with sand on my feet
walking away from the froth, the roar,
respecting the immensity of the sea;
walking home, i glanced at my wrist
to check the time
only to find the old watch is ticking
in the old man’s shop.

perhaps next week,
i will be able to tell the time.