To the boy I loaned a pencil,
You never had to give it back.
I know this one was fancy,
New eraser, full of lead.
But I had another one just like it
Which you could have had instead.
Though I always used the same one,
I carried two of every kind.
To make sure you had options
Of lead in every size.
You always chose the worst ones,
Even after I'd protest.
You said that you'd just lose it.
But I knew I'd have no regrets.
It was your right to lose them.
Pencils of your very own.
I had plenty more there in my bag,
And many more at home.
But you never took the nice ones.
So I collected from the floor
Any pencil so mistreated
That you would call it yours.
And every day I offered
Without needing to be asked.
Because the importance of a pencil
Was not just science class.
My science teacher always assigned the same boy to be my lab partner in middle school. I suppose she hoped I'd be a "good influence". I hope I was.
