Ode to my Pilot G2

I saw you in the bookstore
in a crowded plastic bin.
You cost a dollar-sixty
for a puny little pen.
But you make bold, audacious lines
avoiding smudge and smear.
To find a pen to equal you,
I’d be looking for a year.
Quantity or quality—
that neverending question.
I could have bought a 10-pack
at my roommate’s kind suggestion.
But seeing you,
you spoke to me and really made me think,
What is the real significance
of plastic filled with ink?
Images rose before my eyes
of manuscript and note
more clear and neat than all
the other things I ever wrote.
I bought you, used you
you were great.
For weeks my notes were neat.
Yet what was that—a scratch?
It can’t be—
a scratch upon my sheet!
Your ink is lost, your cap is chewed.
You’ve lost your brand-new shine.
Now I must throw away what made
so bold and straight a line.