The Clock Marriage by Gareth Culshaw

The Clock Marriage
I watched my husband build clocks his whole life.
Cleaning the centre wheel, connecting the grips
of the escape wheel and third wheel.

He wore a leather apron with a pencil in his mouth,

rested a pivot reaching tool behind an ear.
Sometimes he touched my hand when we sat

on a bus. I never knew why. The pendulum bob
swung between us, and our tongues sometimes
went with the tick tock. I saw his crow foot tool


on the bench. I felt like using it on his chest
to see if his heart had my face on it. He turned
the winding mechanism, set the time for himself,

and I sat in front of the T.V unaware of the hour
hand sinking by. His hands flicked a five prong
clock key. I lay next to him in hope he winds
my parts. But he snored away, lost in the clocks
he had known. I lay with the streetlight haze,
listened to cars thinning with the darkness,
smelt staleness, let my eyelids decide on
when to sleep.
Gareth Culshaw lives in Wales. He is an aspiring writer who has his first collection by futurecycle in 2018.

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