The Ringing Bell
I keep a cheap Russian pocket watch in my top drawer -
she kept herself there, unwound,
a 1917 replica, from a
- A lunar sunset walk across a coastal stubbled field,
the windmill still, the marsh reeds rustle,
the salt sea air rumbles and thrums -
A battleship on her flip-up cover lid,
a Commie call to prayer -
"All power to the Soviets!"
stamped on a red flag - but the red paint's gone,
thumbed, rubbed away, pocketed too quick
I found her the other day and wound her,
and now she ticks these silent years undone.
Remembered Home Alone Tone - hid away
the long ten weeks of our long work-stay,
self-deserted,
he'd phone, not speak, to his empty UK home
just to hear the ringing bell,
to loosen the dust from his hall handset -
the distant sea whispering from her shell
