we sit side by side and sort the
bin marked “Odds and Ends.”
He loses interest and wanders
away then circles round again
to see what I’ve tossed into the
tall trash can. Junk. Treasures.
Flotsam. Shards. He pulls out
and slips onto his small, soft wrist
an old watch. “It’s broken,”
I say. But a smile lifts his cheeks.
He twirls the metal band, touches
the clear, glass face. “I’ll wear it
anyway,” he says. “We’ll just be
frozen in time.”