Did we miss each other?
If my watch could talk, hah!, it would say
what? 12:05, 06. If I had a watch to say.
But I don’t; I use my phone to tell time.
Too bad it’s dead. Telling time. Saying watches.
What odd ideas.
The blind have talking watches.
I miss people, places, things from the past.
I may now begin missing him.
I know him.
He’s a stickler for punctuality.
First I’ll miss him angularly and three dimensionally,
microscopically, pore by pore, the back of my hand like.
As time passes, he’ll be less pronounced, say
more rounded, softened edges, gauzy,
growing indistinct, almost an echo of himself,
fainting to some phrases, a word or two.
Then I’ll not remember him much at all.
It’ll be hard to say what he looked like.
Eventually I’ll just miss a notion, an idea,
like the rest who’ve faded away.
I wish I could check my phone,
see if maybe he left me a message
saying why he’d be late.
What time is it now? 12:15, 16?
If this were Samarra, I’d be dead already.
I’ll keep watch, just in case.
Was this maybe his?