What’s in my pencil pouch?
Two dried up markers
That I haven’t thrown away,
A black sharpie
That is now a faded blue,
And a small roll of tape
That I can’t find the beginning of.
A half used eraser
With drawings and holes,
That is as hard as a rock,
A pair of tiny scissors
The size of a toothpick.
Some little doodles
On scrap paper and sticky notes,
A whole bunch of pencils,
Missing their erasers and lead.