Old Clock Shop

What’s the time?

I check my watch

stopped again.

A tiny shack.

Worn clocks, being dusted

by a meek old man,

as if time stretched for him

until an hourly chime

A pendulum stalled mid-breath.

A cracked clock, hands frozen.

A sundial, gathering dust indoors.

A grandfather clock,

at the center.

No Mother's clock?

Minutes of that meeting

Always unclocked 

On his table,

time lies dismantled.

One dial at a time,

he coaxes it back

a motor stirs,

a tick returns,

like breathing again

Quiet applause.

The shack shifts to a time machine

Every clock

tells a different hour,

a different era

happening at once.

I look at my wristwatch.

Time, unaccounted.

In a room full of clocks,

none are mine.

How do I return

from here.