A day in the life

A pencil is pinched in the grip of a hand.
His organs are squeezed until he feels
as if his heart is in his eraser
and his intestines are in his lead.
Each letter looped or straightened
stubs his toes, drags his heels;
each erased mistake balds his hair
in rough, uneven patches.
When the sentence is finished
he is dropped with a thud to the paper
where he nurses a tremendous headache.
The paper is none too pleased either:
he's a dull No. 2, heavy across her abdomen.


by Anjie Reynolds
August 2008