watchband
i watch this lunatic kid
pace the windblown street
i check my watch
and see that the watchband is broken
this cheap leather
that i bought less than a year ago
frayed and torn
dangling
and the lady next to me bitches
about the lunatic kid
the time
the weather
it could be thirteen degrees out
or ninety-five
and she’d still be bitching
people are dissatisfied about the wrong things
like television or restaurant meals
the weather and other people
i am dissatisfied with this watchband and my job
bits and pieces of the last so many years
aspects of my childhood
but i can do nothing about those things
i am powerless in the grand expanse of time
it is clichéd but i must tick on
as i watch this lunatic kid pace about
as the woman complains about how cold she is
asking everyone but me the time
as a pink faced child
cries to his freezing mother
and the cars make orange smears of light
in the icy atmosphere
our little sect of humanity
burdened and hateful
trying our best to get home
on another thursday evening
where any kind of warmth and unity
amongst this selfish tribe
seems
as tiring a responsibility
as picking out a new watchband
this weekend
only to strap it on
my waiting, hairy wrist.
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