Homage to the humble watchmaker. Winner of Pop Poetry Contest, June 2020.
The world reduced to a pool of light
reflecting off the metalled surfaces
in miniature, the watchmaker,
glass held in eye, concentrates,
attention fixed on a moment,
his gaze unyielding on the infinite,
a delicate spring, near microscopic
teeth geared to reciprocating movement,
so he rebuilds in careful labour
machinery so fragile to count the seconds
of a life unknown, a stranger’s brief,
“It’s running slow, might need a clean.”
The craftsman bends once more to his task,
the universe constricted to a pinpoint,
as his fingers trace the narrow path
between repair and broken.
Outside, in the skies beyond the wide window
of the southern wall, clouds gather,
heaping a promise of a storm to come,
preparing to threaten the quiet industry below.
Line Count: 20
For Pop Poetry Contest June 2020
Prompt: Use these three words in your poem - spring, repair, threaten