The Blue Pen

Walked out the door, the weight a ghost

against my thigh, that cheap blue plastic.

A small transgression, almost lost,

a secret kept, a bit fantastic.

Nobody saw. The clerk just blinked,

then looked away. The street was loud.

My own small crime, distinctly linked

to just myself, outside the crowd.

It sits here now, a pointless thing,

a marker of a choice I made.

No thrill, no rush, no song to sing,

just a small debt that’s never paid.