Time

I wish I had a pocketwatch
which I could produce
in awkward situations
staring into the ticking face in my palm
as if I could will the black hands
backwards five minutes.

I could use the bronze chain in fights
garrotting burly miscreants
swinging the bright disc of the watch
like a mace
like clockwork nunchucks
knocking blood-lipped cleavers from the floury palms
of angry chefs
braining one assailant
chinning another -

Tick
Tock.

Then one day
I could pawn it for a bottle of scotch.
I'd sit swigging in the shadow
of the town clock
glugging back battery-acid slugs
until the old bell sung midnight.