To do list?

You know those times when you have a dozen things to do and some free time to actually get them done? That's when I look outside and see a poem sneaking by the window, reaching for the doorknob.

It's those times when I know I should be doing something that ultimately has little importance; that's when I find poetry to be a welcome excuse, a stealer of time for whom I conveniently leave the gate unlatched. Here’s my latest little thief.

The Breakup

In the grass under this bench

lies only the lead-tip end

of a broken pencil.

The eraser end is nowhere to be found.

What happened, I wonder,

to split such an indivisible pair?

Did an angry author force their divorce?

Or was it a mutual breakup?

Or perhaps, the lead had gotten sick

of its partner’s second guessing,

back-stepping behavior.

Maybe the lead had finally had enough.

I’ll bet it slammed the door

with its backpack slung across its shoulder

and set off to live a new life –

a life free of the eraser’s constant regret.

I’m sure that somewhere the eraser

is sitting alone, curled up on a wooly patchwork sofa,

longing for the company of its ex –

the pencil lead who is now bounding through

the tall blades of grass beneath this park bench.