The Clock Marriage by Gareth Culshaw

Clock
.
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
.
Gareth Culshaw lives in Wales. He is an aspiring writer who has his first collection by futurecycle in 2018.
.
.

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