Cacophony

Every time we went on vacation, we bought a clock.
It was Betty’s idea—she wanted something nice
To help us remember, I guess.
The first was a cuckoo clock, from Germany.
Found it in the summer of ’74 on our first real vacation
(The first one without kids, I mean).
Picked it up in a little village, about 60 km. from The Wall.
We’d gotten a few nice chiming clocks
When I was stationed there after the war,
But this time we wanted something different.
It was real pretty, too, lots of carved leaves and faces.
I think it was a month after we brought it home and hung it
Before we stopped meeting in front of it every hour
To watch the bird pop out.
Betty loved watching that bird pop out.
Spring broke a couple years ago,
When we moved into this house.
Still have the old carriage clock though, there on the mantle.
That one was from England.
And that little one, with the flowers and silver pendulum,
Found that in the Philippines.
The grandfather clock, though, that was the real treasure.
Got it for a steal from a tiny furniture shop in Virginia.
Cost a mint to ship it back to Arizona,
But it was worth every penny.
Betty always said that clock reminded her of her father.
It’s hard to believe all the places we’ve been,
But I have a clock from every single one.
Thirty-seven clocks, that ring the hour, on the hour.
The rest of time it’s pretty quiet around here.

(I wrote this when my gramma died...)