Advertising, son

8 November 2011 541 views One Comment

Once, that longed for prize
In virgin schoolboy wet-dreams
Fed by spoon in nature;
That lump of sugar
To tease the little unwitting
Fly. That little fool would
Pick it up in awed reverie, At the
mouth end as Oval as an ‘O’-
a salival mercury-zigzag frozen a
Little off to the right.

“Here’s a tissue, son. Right.
Are we good? Are we fine? Okay,
Here’s the deal: I’ve got a pen.
This very same one, right?
There it is, son. Magnificent, isn’t
It? Like it? Well, you can’t have it,
It’s mine.

“But here, I’ll show it off
To you if you like. Help you stop
Drooling or, well, start some more.
Make those eyeballs of yours
Sink back in to help sedate you.
Feel that smeek black of its shaft?
That’s the plastic only the best
brands can buy. That signature
Arrowhead clip on the cap? That’s an
Engineering seat guaranteed, my man.
Or a place at the best medical
institute if that’s what floats your
Boat. If you get that, wear it proud
On your pocket, wear it grand.

“Wait- let me open it up… show it off
Some more. That metal neck right
There, that is serious class, son.
The specially designed tip
Punctures holes in the meanest
Exam, I promise, I do. This pen, son,
Is so much more than some sword.
All this can be yours
At just rupees two-forty-nine
Ninety-nine.”

And off went the Cathode
ray tube to the sound he had heard
lightsabers turn on to.

A smiling father stuck out his
Hand, holding more than just rupees
Two hundred and fifty. Chest puffed
Out, head reaching giraffe heights.
While picking up the morning paper,
To the caffeine-deficit neighbor
He’d say, “Getting my son a Parker.
Aced his exam. Got an overall of
Ninety nine.”

In the meantime, pockets emptied of
Rupees two hundred and fifty,
The fourth grader grips his first
Freudian instance in hand- a Parker
Pen! A hard earned prize from
All that well learned copy-pasting.
He’d be the first one to get it
In his class. That smeek black body,
That influential insignia, that
Magpie-shine metal neck,
And that nib that could outsmart
his exam questions; that was rad!

Tarnished now, that metal neck in
Hand, over a virgin white bounty.
A wait for a divine impregnation in
Head to flow through that ambitious
Nib, that had aged an old man
(in dog years). Although bent, its
Royal Blue blood still flowed. There
It sits on my hand rearing to go.

“C’mon! Do your thing magic Parker
Pen- please write.”

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