A Night with the C1 Bel Canto Lumière
Photo by Chris Antzoulis
Part 1 - The BBQ and Beer
Some nights write themselves through exhaustion,
neon, and blueberry-infused hefeweizen.
I’ll let you, dear reader, into a watch fair afterparty
in Austin, accented by all the BBQ’d brisket Texas
could serve up.
I may have coaxed Chris Ward’s Mike Pearson
for the new release, promising a piece of writing
that I’m sure he thought would be a review. Although,
Photo by Chris Antzoulis
the watch nerds found out I wrote poetry,
and a challenge was issued — and who am I
to back down, especially with another round
in hand, while Tron-inspired Mike Wazowski chimed
on wrist, and more than a few taps on the shoulder
to ohhhh and aweee over the glow
of the electrified songbird marking the evening —
one chirp and we discussed amplifying women’s
voices in watches. One chirp later
and we discussed how one brand owner’s grandma
was left here by aliens. Yet another,
and one head of marketing shared photos
of their dad’s decorative Christmas tree carpentry —
butt plugs, they looked like butt plugs. Really, there's no
poetic way to say that.
The Bel Canto Lumière glowed all evening
with all the self-confidence I lack,
like a Met Gala attendee dressed for a mission to Mars.
Every hour a tiny silver hammer tapping
a smile-sized bell, punctuating my jokes,
pepping up my small talk, ringing mid-sip,
and singing about how everything is possible
mid-chaos, with me a beautiful disaster. Finally
traipsing back to the La Quinta Inn —
Photo provided by Christopher Ward
Part 2 - Battle at the La Quinta Inn
Treading the hallway, whose carpet looked like
it had been designed by someone going through a rough
divorce. Inside my room, I collapsed onto the bed
Photo by Betina Menescal of Chris hard at work on the poem with his normal-sized pencil
with the grace of a felled elk. Before stammering back
to my feet, to take Bel Canto photos on the bathroom
sink, before starting this poem and trying to sleep.
1am
DING!
The Bel Canto pelted me from the hotel desk
bright as a guilty conscience.
I opened one eye,
looked at the glowing gremlin of timekeeping,
and thought,
I should get up. I should turn it off.
But my body replied:
“No. We die as we lived: frozen in procrastination!”
2am
DING!
A softer chime; I swear,
as if the watch felt bad for me.
3am
DING!
I whispered,
“Please, buddy…please.”
All while gleaming back at me, a lighthouse
guiding no ships.
Illustration of Time Deity Mike created in the recesses of Chris’s mind……and ChatGPT
By 4am the chime blended into my dreams—
I was a trapped in the Grid,
wearing a lumed suit,
battling a timekeeping deity
who looked suspiciously like Mike Pearson.
Today I’m supposed to give the watch back.
Return it politely.
Like an adult.
But I fought so hard! Tested and I won!
Maybe I’ll skip town. Go on the lam.
Disappear into dark oblivion,
with the Bel Canto Lumière lighting the way.
Transparency:
I was loaned the Bel Canto Lumière for an evening by Christopher Ward and returned it the next morning. It was agreed that I would write something about it, but there’s no earthly way they thought it would be this. :-)
REMEMBER, nerds…. to keep the comments clean. Please don’t make me pull out ole Abraham-Louis here.
