Odes to Joy

Odes to Vices · Track 28 · middle

Little Miss Pen-Borrowed-Forever

"Just for a sec." The Bic disappeared. The bank's chained pen invented for her specifically.

Lyrics

[Intro]
Oh, little Bic Cristal, with your clear barrel and blue ink...

[Verse 1]
It was Tuesday, October 17th, 2023, at 10:17 AM in the open-plan office on 5th and Elm.
Sarah at her desk, fiddling with reports, when Emily approached, eyes wide and pleading.
"Just for a sec," she said, hand outstretched.
You were there, Bic, cap chewed slightly from last week's meeting.
Emily took you, scribbled a note on a Post-it dated for the dentist appointment.
Then slipped you into her Kate Spade purse, black leather, bought on sale at Macy's in 2021.

[Chorus]
Bic, you vanished like that, into the void of good intentions.
Chained pens at Wells Fargo on Market Street were made for her kind.
The ones who borrow and forget, leaving desks barren.
Emily, with her quick smile and forgotten promises.
You were my favorite, smooth glide on recycled paper.
Now lost in her collection of half-used hotel freebies.

[Verse 2]
Remember the conference room, November 3rd, under fluorescent lights buzzing at 60 Hz.
Mark lent his Pilot G2, black ink, to her for signing the nondisclosure.
It joined you in oblivion, pocketed with a nod.
Banks started chaining them in 1985, after too many like Emily walked off.
Her desk drawer at home, a graveyard: Cross from 2019, Sharpie from the art fair.
You, Bic, nestled between a receipt from Starbucks dated July 12th and a broken staple.

[Bridge]
Oh pen, if you could speak, what tales of fleeting grasps.
Emily's fingers, manicured at Nail Bar on 7th last Saturday.
The words you wrote, half-formed thoughts, now abandoned.
I address you now, lost tool, in this song's quiet hold.

[Verse 3]
At the cafe on Pine, December 1st, she asked the barista for a quick borrow.
Uni-ball from Tokyo, imported in 2022, gone in a swirl of latte foam.
The chain at the bank teller window, silver links from a factory in Ohio.
Invented for you, Emily, and your casual thefts.
Bic, I mourn your hexagonal body, the ink that dried in someone else's story.

[Outro]
Little Miss Pen-Borrowed-Forever, may your purse overflow.
But leave my next one be.
Pick a song