It was just a week ago today,
I sat in my favorite cafe,
With a pencil to write,
A poem to delight,
When a disaster had come my way!
Oh snap! My pencil sadly did break,
One mishap any writer could make.
So I jumped up and ran,
Broken pencil in hand,
Scouring for a store at daybreak.
Down a crooked street and to my right,
I beheld the most welcoming sight!
A sly fox in a suit,
So disheveled, yet cute.
“Why hello,” said the fox with delight.
“A writer, you say? Lucky for you.
This pencil’s a marvel, that is true.
and it writes like a dream,
a true wordsmith supreme,
With one left for sale, five bucks will do!”
Even though his wry grin was askew,
I was desperate — what could I do?
So a fair deal was made,
With five dollars I paid,
And swiftly to the cafe I flew.
Just like that, the betrayal took hold,
My pencil refused to be controlled.
It wobbled and it shook,
Like a fish off the hook,
And no sentence was able to unfold.
Then I saw on the side in bold scrawl:
“Left-Hand Only - No refunds at all!”
A scoundrel for a fox!
One sneaky chatterbox!
He knew I was right-handed. What gall!
So I sit here now sadly distraught,
With a half-written poem to jot.
It would have been so grand,
My new pencil in hand,
but a left-handed poet I’m not!
