The Souvenir

My pen is shaped like a cigar
from some 1940's cartoon --
sharply pointed at both ends,
smoothly curved, tip to tip,
fat around the middle.

This instrument is not heavy 
with metal,
nor polished to reflect
my aging, bearded face.
Were it denser than lead,
imagine the distraction,
the fancied predilections
from the importance weight lends
when tracing curved paths
across paper.

No, my instrument 
has fingerprints of its own
in whorls of semi-polished oak.
The tree reaches, touches back
through this amulet 
of sanded branch,
alive and eager.

Scott Speck
04/23/2005