Rounding Error

It was buried in the junk drawer

under the batteries and the twine.

A small, white block of plastic

counting out a different kind of time.

The digits are fading to a ghost-gray,

exhausted by the effort of the run.

I haven't been in the race for months,

but the little gears are never done.

I press the button to make it stop

and feel the spring stutter and stick.

It doesn't quite pop back up,

carrying the ghost of every click.

I’m three weeks late for the deadline

and the kitchen is perfectly still,

save for this piece of cheap circuitry

grinding its way up a hill.