Ode to the Short Bluish Eraserless Pencil That’s Usually in the Back Part of the Second Drawer on the Left of the Desk in my Younger Brother’s Bedroom. He Doesn’t Know about You.


L.P. Stribling


funny pencil picture (29)

Dear Roger,

I’m writing you this letter while I’m in Gym Class. I hope you’re well.

It’s like 10 minutes after the bell and I’m writing this letter with a different writing utensil – a pen, actually.

Then again, he’s not that great, the pen, and he’s certainly not you, all nice and blue. Well, bluish.

I’m using him to write on a white sheet of Inga Peter’s homework. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt it at all – some bit about the Fall of Rome and the Colosseum or some sort of humdrum thing.

God, Gym Class sucks.

The last thing I want is to be fit,

Speaking of which I’ll be home soon and I can take you out of that drawer that you so abhor.

Sorry it’s so boring in there. I’m working on building a place for you. Maybe under the stairs or in that little mouse hole above the cuckoo clock in mom’s bathroom – somewhere nice.

Sit tight for now; it’ll be all right.

‘Member that one night when you and I were writing in my journal (well, you were writing, anyway) and then I tried to draw that drawing of mom’s face and how twisted it gets when she smells farts? It was art, right?

And then she found it, and despite our hard work, she took the journal and yelled at us. She went berserk.

That’s when I put you in the drawer in Kevin’s room.

It was like ZOOM! Right in to the room! ‘cause mom was chasing us trying to brake you in half.

Plus, I didn’t know what else to do.

But don’t worry; it’s cool. Kevin doesn’t know about you, and as soon as I get out of here, I swear…

God, Gym Class sucks.

Okay, Okay, there’ the bell.

Don’t worry, Roger, all will be well. I’m on my way home and, well, I’m bringing you a brother…or a friend.

It’s a pen, actually. But he’s not as great as you, all nice and blue.

Well, bluish.


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