Bite Force

I dug through the clutter to find a working pen

And pulled out this yellow, plastic ghost again.

He used to chew the end when his hand was bad,

Grinding down his nerves and the luck he never had.

It’s been three years since he left the drawer a mess,

But the ruts in the barrel show the old distress.

The jagged little pits where his molars dug deep

Are the only parts of him I was allowed to keep.