"The First Tick"

At sixteen’s dawn, my wrist was sold,

A first-time keeper, cosseted like gold.

Its crisp numerals, both bright and bold,

Three eyes—day, date, and time untold.

A pirate’s gaze, a tri-eye watchful stare,

While seconds soar, a red plane cuts the air.

At forty-two mil wide, a burden to bear,

Yet on my wrist, a joy to wear.

A gunmetal sheen with a tempered glow,

Like titanium cast in silver’s flow.

Its El Primero-like eyes, a timeless show,

Steady it stood through time’s swift woe.

The lone quartz heart amidst gears of might,

Yet still it ticks through day and night.