Well, I'm having a good time with pad -- that's for sure. I love this one.
John Lennon Saved My Life Again Today
Sharpening my pencil in my
mint green battery-operated sharpener
shaped like a Hopi fetish of a bear,
my mother-in-law
had one on her mantle, a lovely
half clamshell shape, turquoise
with a strand of dried grass wrapped
around it, almost a belt, at the widest
part, or a Zuni fetish, as I learn
at the Native American Southwest
belt buckle website, with pencil
shavings where the face would be,
pointed down toward the table
in front of that green body,
maybe more of a light sea green,
and sparkly like a sandy beach
sparkles, or the pearlized finish
on a bowling ball, or glittery
fingernail polish, anyway
of Revolution before Ringo
hits his drum once, six before
Paul starts his funny scream
and eight before John starts in
singing – that grinding wood
graphite sound I normally can’t
stand, sets my teeth on edge
like a blackbird on a black
board – well, not really –
except this grinding is exactly
the right pitch, I think of
John every time I sharpen
a pencil, and depending on
the day I might feel like
crying, or like today, not.
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