The Plastic Wrist Watch

When I was a kid,
A dislike, I always hid,
Was for the plastic watch
That refused to tick.
How oft I’d try to wind it,
Forward, backward,
Backward, forward,
But its stubborn display
Was ten past ten.
I’d throw it away
In utter irritation,
Or step on it
In sheer frustration.
Nevertheless, the next day,
I would insist for a new one,
Ensuring a different color:
A red, a blue or yellow
That matched my balloon.
Hoping? no, literally praying,
That it should move
Like my dad’s watch;
Which oft I would stick
To my ear to hear:
The footfall of Time.
Sadly, my plastic watch
Refused to make me happy,
Irritated, disgusted,
I’d be crappy.
Years after, today
When I recall
Those moments of
Immature agony,
I wish I could get back
My unseen plastic watch
With its ten-ten hands up
In exultation;
Shouting silent cheers
Of innocent joys.
Today my watch isn’t
Made of plastic,
It ticks, it moves,
I can set it the way
I wish, but where’s
That innocent anger?
That silent cheer
Of eternal victory?
Twice a day its ten-ten
Fourteen times in seven days,
So it does tick,
Both the hands go up
Showing ten past ten
But rarely up in cheer.
That innocence is no more,
They’re up in surrender
Before a sudden encounter,
Rather in celebration;
Or in victory.