Hardness Scale

I tried to draw where the bed should go

if I moved it away from the drafty door.

The pencil lead was too soft, a 4B smear

that turned the side of my hand

into a bruised, metallic silver.

The cedar shavings smell like a woodshop

or a coffin, depending on the mood.

I’ve smudged the blueprints into the sheets,

leaving gray fingerprints on the cotton

that won't wash out with just water.

It’s all just carbon and pressure anyway.

The plan looks like a storm cloud

I’ve been carrying around in my pocket.