Meditation On A Fake Rolex Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

the deal is done among stale beers
they linger the leers long after the
gaggle looks and shoulder shrugs
the slap and tug of the pub quiz
from the depths of that whirlwind
overcoat of his, inside the bar stools
sudden scrape, deft magi moves
there the watch lies, a sacramental
wafer, not fake he says, a copy, a tribute
I peer into a tiny world within world
walled and domed, Blake's jewelled city
"pick it up, feel the heft, feel the quality"
in the ramparts of my ear he easily pours
a vial of words that anneals my vanity
poor Rolex, homeless, what a pity!
miniature makes men into mummy
look at this devilish artistry in the round
the symmetry, a tiny courthouse that argues
and twinkles for heavens purity and within
a moment the storm-front overcoat of
grey flecked wool is gone
and all
grows dim,
the last I saw of him
and of my money


morning with seagull witch-cackle
heralds my clown life fairground trick
among twigs of disturbed slumber
there nests the gaping beaks of doubt
you have to feed, no quiet for me
I have transacted with Mephistopheles
between lizard crawling out of slime
to mans' crafting things divine
wasn't there a Fall, somewhere inbetween?
then sleep breaks like a cracking chain
and there is the whore-watch from
the night before, the fake Rolex
winks from stinking clothes
that jumble the bedroom floor
I lie alluvial and heavy limbed
caked in a cloak of jurassic mud
I, the final pawl to a little movement
made by pauper children in grimy huts
and all for them is unjust, so Greed
the genie with pride and gluttony at his side
pops up, belches a beelzebub of flies,
laughs, and revels in my devil deals
the tumblers spin, no gain, no gain, no gain
come the night, out of unhallowed ground
the gaunt children in thin pyjamas, hollow eyed
pale procession under jittery yellow bulb
each with a crown made of sharp escapement forks
pinions and balance wheels- they go
to joyless toil making the instrument
that measure the drip drip drip of pain


for now, I run fast and slow, and
having bought the imperfect train
time now to recreate
get in the dreaded boat
I row I row
I row I row
I know
I know