Eraser.

Photo-10

Eraser. Claes Oldenberg, 1976

 

 

Eraser

 

I mourn the loss of erasers.

Now we just hit the delete button.

But with an eraser there was a rhythm,

A cadence to the task.

 

You make a mistake.

There is the brief exhale

Like a quick sigh

To expel the tiny frustration.

 

Then there’s the eraser itself.

The feel of it.

Erasers are the cousins of rubber bands.

Everyone knows this.

 

Then there’s the rubbing.

And The Disappearing Act.

 

And then the small finger of the left hand flicks once,

Then twice,

The tiny rolls of spent eraser.

 

And then the soft blow

To disperse them.

 

And then it all starts again until the next mistake.

 

And again,

Exhale.

Rub.

Flick.

Flick.

Blow.

 

And then the writing, writing, writing-

Mistake.

Exhale.

Rub.

Flick.

Flick.

Blow.

 

My delete button thinks I’m crazy.

He says writing is not dancing.

Anymore.

 

 

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