Long, lank, bleak,
Black or dark blue.
He always left them behind,
Every morning I would find
One of them.
Heydays, even two.
Long, lank, bleak,
Black or dark blue.
He would ogle down to them
With tender resolution,
A pamper touch,
A cushioning nest,
They deserved a good
Long day rest. In
His denim left pocket.
Long, lank, bleak,
Black or dark blue.
I would get dressed
And perfumed in ink scent, I
Would give a cursory look
On the skew, a
Scanty glimpse
Of his stationary jewelry.
Color scrutiny,
Bleak black or dark blue.
Why would he left them behind?
Didn't he care for them?
He was devoted to their shape,
Color and baneful intentions.
I had seen it happen,
Seen them laying abandoned,
On my murky desk,
Waiting for the grasp
Of his right brown hand,
A lift, an elevation,
A jean, a tight warren,
For pens, for they are not rabbits,
Long, lank, bleak,
Black or dark blue.
A.
