With this stupid pen you gave me.

I’m still writing with
this stupid pen you gave me.
It says “Boston”
It cost $3.99.

(You didn’t even bother to take off the price tag.)

I’ve never been to Boston
and this pen barely writes
but I keep pushing it harder
on the page
hoping it will come out right.

You seem to not know me at all
sometimes
but then you do this:
Give me this silly present
maybe the meaning was lost on you
but the pen is perfect
in all its imperfections

and I’ve never been to Boston
but the pen is perfect
in all its imperfections

and this pen barely writes
but I’m still touched by the stupid, silly sincerity
and insincerity of it all

Even if the meaning is lost.
Even if you don’t know me at all.

I’ll keep writing.
You ran out the door
before I could say anything at all.