My Father's Watch

I have only seen him wear it once,
The day of Papa's funeral

A dulled gold watch,
Kept atop his chest of drawers
In one of his weathered wooden boxes,
Buried
Under ancient receipts, credit cards
And childhood pictures of his children

We stood,
Me and him,
Silent
In his room

He showed it to me right before he put it on

As he first clasped that weary watch to his wrist,
My hero began to deteriorate

Tears in his eyes,
He looked at his last son
Not even yet a man

Three came before me
And none had received it

None had received my father's watch,
As he had
From Papa

Because none of us cared for him
As he had for his father