Cradled in the smooth groove
stretchy slope, perched between
your pointer
and omniscient thumb
the hexagonal pole poised in position
and lightly pinch
its slender girth
slide midway down its length
or further,
depending on your comfort level
or prowess,
practice with pointed objects
It's metal headband
watches from behind, coaching
looking for mistakes.
Taking aim with the tip
the bulls eye opening is your mark
the electric desktop bladed machine,
a miniature tree shredder of sorts.
It will resist and rock, grind
and gnash,
vibrating and stimulating
to the touch
Five seconds will do,
enough to make your point
sharp and new
although you've lost some length likely
you've left some carbon footprints where
it whittled itself away
right before erasure led to its faded decay
ashes to coal, black dust in the wind
archaically, today the pencil is passe.
I still use one today
and I could continue on rhyming this way,
until my coal dark pencil turns light grey.
Then again-
I think I'll grab a pen.
Image By Juliancolton (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
