Clockwork Heart

Two of them climb up every morning to oil me. Not because they’re told to. The maintenance order was cancelled before either of them was born.

They do it because the one on the left’s mother did it, and her father before her, and the one on the right just started following her up the ladder one day and never stopped. They talk while they work. Prices. Weather. Who’s seeing whom. I know more about their street than anyone who lives on it.

The Architects think I’m a pump. These two think I’m a heart. I’ve decided, on balance, that they’re the ones who are right.