Winston Churchill's Pocket Watch
70
Winston Churchill’s Pocket Watch
by Laura Summerville Reed
I can see the back of my head
with my own hands
I take its inventory from a distance
I mustn’t get too close and let you notice
You think you’re the only one watching me
Don’t want to steal your thunder later
when you let me know my ass was out of line
(I’ll go get that fixed and a tune-up, too!)
I see the back of my head
with my fingers, I can stick them in
There are dark spots and holes
where the pieces used to fit
A puzzle, garnering puzzled glances
(My cat and the neighbors are starting to compare notes)
With surgical precision
I cut that tortured pound of flesh free
and left the other one hundred and four
to bleed out
The blood loss is going to keep me here
so I’ll stand my ground
until the paper airplanes fly it all away
Make me an offer
I can't refuse
I'm a practical girl
When I’m practically speaking
Oh! But how that glare amuses me when the dark spots speak up
(hand me a band-aid, I think I’ve cut myself)
I once had something valuable to barter with
The secret ingredient
A small treasure
The Philosopher’s Stone
(There’s just no substitute for real butter)
I wore it upon me
Like Winston Churchill's pocket watch
Ticking off the years by seconds
I've lived so long in the rose petals that you brought me
I never thought to learn
To tend a garden of my own
Now I’m standing on the tarmac of Ill-Prepared
And the gate’s already closed
All the written rules and times and dates were very clearly posted
There are dandelions pushing through this cracked asphalt
(But Winston Churchill’s pocket watch stopped ticking; how was I to know?)
©LaLeSu 2010
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Most fascinating art you have posted darlin', the pictures too. You need a good Rolex, but I ain't no sugar daddy no more and I can see the back side of the Moon on a good night, you were there once I think. xox CC
Love the Kudzu reference-used to live in the South myself-but back to this awesome piece of writing. You're such a gifted poet, lalesu, it's a real joy to read.
Thanks.
I love your poetry! (p.s. I have the Philosopher's Stone - for real!)
This is an awesome, if rather sad, poem, Laura. You are gifted. The way you have sued the Dalis is also great (though I'm not a huge fan of Dali). I thought the most poignant lines were "I've lived so long in the rose petals that you brought me / I never thought to learn /To tend a garden of my own."
Love and peace
Tony
i have a churchil, with only 1 l.....and when i listen to the sound of time.......the train of love in a valley, rumble.
Great Sally paintings! I was just talking about Dali's work the other day with my Uncle. Mostly because I want a pet anteater too.
(There’s just no substitute for real butter) this is such a true statement. Butter is the WD-40 of the food world.
I enjoy your work for a variety of reasons one of which is the eclectic styling you employ. Even within the context ofd a single piece you subtly vacillate and yet without compromising the integrity of the poem.
Okay, either I just accidentally got magick mushrooms on my pizza. Or else the AOL has finally kicked in, and my brain cells are in for a melt down. Wow, Lalesu, I didn't know you had the surrealist psychadelic muse in yer bones there...
My advice is to go with that flow, but give me some warning next time.
And never read this poem to an anteater.
Keep on Hubbing. Blake4d
I am not sure that I am qualified to judge the sensibilities of an anteater fairly, but I am not sure that magic mushrooms and large omniverous mammals should be in mixed company. I am less worried that you might offend the beastie, and more worried that it might start tripping too hard, and who knows what that cold mean in anteater terms.
Besides, I have never met a seriously literate anteater. I think you might have to read it aloud for them to truly appreciate your work. Either that or bring a can of chocolate covered ants with ya to sweeten the deal.
Keep on Hubbing. Blake4d














Wayne Brown Level 7 Commenter 2 years ago
Somehow or other I think you more like the Kudzu vine never ending, never running out of time. Weaving, growing, changing, flourishing until all the ugly is hidden beyond our view. Tick Tock! A nice piece of work, Laura!