Wrist Watcher

from the darkness I become

aware of a gentle vibration,

a distant throb as if a ship

having crested the horizon,

was now slowly approaching

safe haven at my bedside,

fifty times a minute, a satisfying

although precarious rhythm,

a jailor counting out a

sentence, second by second,

or a reassuring presence

stroking my arm,

like a pendulum my psyche

swings between both options

cautiously and wantonly,

life is now recorded by a

device shackled to my wrist,

it tabulates and delivers vital

signs over breakfast, in ambivalent

digital black and white numbers

all’s well for another day it seems

Published by grahamrsherwood