My wristwatch has no minute hand
upon it’s empty face,
and where the hour hand should be
there’s nothing there but space.
My wristwatch simply won’t tell time.
It’s useless as can be.
I can’t tell if it’s half past five
or seventeen till three.
It could be nearly midnight
or it could be ten till four.
Without an hour or minute hand
I’m not sure anymore.
My wristwatch isn’t working out
the way that I had planned.
I guess that I deserved this, though:
I bought it secondhand.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Copyright © 2005. All Rights Reserved.
Reading Level: Grade 3
Topics: Wacky Weirdness
Poetic Techniques: Descriptive Poems
Use This Poem
Would you like to use this poem in your classroom? Would you like permission to reprint, record, recite or broadcast this poem, or set it to music? Please click on one of the following links for permissions and reprint rights information: