(A Poem in Slightly Crooked Lines)

I sat at my table at quarter to four,

With four little pencils (I might need one more).

A worksheet of fractions stared back at my face,

Like a dragon who’d swallowed my free-time whole place.

I sharpened my pencils until they were knights,

Polished their helmets, prepared for the fights.

I whispered, “Be brave,” (and gave each a name),

Then pointed at problem one — let’s start the game!

Pencil the First broke his tip on a sum,

Groaned, “I surrender!” and twirled on his thumb.

Pencil the Second got lost in a maze

Of trains leaving stations at odd, puzzling ways.

Pencil the Third met a fraction too sly,

Slipped off the paper and sighed, “I must fly!”

That left the Fourth — a champion, bold —

Who charged at the numbers in scribbles of gold.

He galloped through fractions, leapt over eights,

Chased runaway sevens, unlatched stubborn gates,

And when he had finished (with just half a nib),

He planted a victory flag — a pencil stub jib!

I closed up my notebook, let out a loud roar,

(My mom yelled, “Keep quiet!” from behind the door.)

The dragons were gone, the fractions were tame,

But tomorrow, of course… they’ll start a new game.

Enjoy this one? You might just be one of us. There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com —stories and reflections that feel like remembering something you forgot you knew.