he watches over watches, clocks and
a warm yielding now, he nods
shaking off incessant surly ticking,
then silence seems alarming. in a flash come to again,
to find he cannot find the time.
progressing, it is 1982,
aging tuberculotic, a falling godess steps up
from Conciergerie, from Tribunal,
and from her mock trial to the scaffold, where
in vain, she tries to read the headman's watch,
he has none. hers was lost.
lurch forward to now, cold and autumnal.
insurance money down in the books, watchman fired, priceless
timepieces repurchased, cleaned, oiled, wound, and put back on
display. police still tracking thieves.
timeless, piercing laser gazes of
guards, alarms, museum visitors traverse the scene.
to date, perhaps one of the most
appalling gestures in the modern world,
the arrogant impatience displayed in
that quick cursory glance snuck at the wristwatch.