that flat eyebrowed look-
because the top of his head
was scraped and torn
in anger of a failed art project.
Poor little eraser dog.
He's missing one of his ears,
a careless mistake in a simple math problem.
For every foolish mistake there is someone
who must bare the consequences
and suffer the pain.
Poor little eraser dog.
And sometimes, sometimes he wishes
that he'd been made from wax and wick
so his torment would burn out
in just an hour or so.
Poor little eraser dog.
Still, he lifts his head so high,
with a blackened, stubby nose.
Proud, so proud he is of his purpose and duty.
But pride is hard for him to hold on to
when his beauty is stolen, and his body deformed.
Poor little eraser dog.
He sits in the dark
between the crayons and the mechanical pencil,
longing for light, but still
afraid of it, and of the warmth
of the hand that reaches to clutch him.
Poor little eraser dog.
Sometimes he dreams that he can howl
to the light of the moon, like the dogs
he sees in pictures,
or like his master, cry
over a battered old diary.
But his throat and eyes are made of rubber:
rubber cannot howl or cry.
Poor little eraser dog.
He can tell from the dates
scrawled across the tops of the pages-
soon the exams will come.
Fear will lead his master
to make a hundred more mistakes,
to smudge the last pages;
and that final word scribbled in haste
will be the signature of execution
of poor little eraser dog.
Spoiler
(Written in american-english. It's based on this blue rubber in the shape of a dog. In my time of desperation and lack of inspiration he was sitting there staring at me with a cartoonishly sad expression.
I solemly swear I will never again use his head to erase my poorly thought out ideas, nor will I rub his backside furiosly across the page as each one of those ideas fail.)
I solemly swear I will never again use his head to erase my poorly thought out ideas, nor will I rub his backside furiosly across the page as each one of those ideas fail.)
