For today's prompt, pick a tool, make that the title of your poem, and write your poem.
Pen
My right pocket always has a pen
in it. Heavy and silver, usually; snagged
on the fabric and peeking out.
I love the way a good pen feels when you
hold it. Solid and thick, sturdy between
your fingers; a tool of substance.
Sometimes I prefer the smooth, liquid
gel, gliding off the ball. Other times I like
a sharp tip scraping the page.
And after the pen has wreaked it's havoc
or fostered love or gone into space,
it becomes my trusty sidekick again.
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