...has to be cleaning off the desk. There isn't any more room for my elbows here. Mainly because whenever I can't figure out what to do with something, it goes on my desk.
It's a bad habit.
The Contents of My Desk, by Kenn Nesbitt
A nail.
A nickle.
A snail.
A pickle.
A twisted-up slinky.
A ring for my pinky.
A blackened banana.
A love note from Hannah.
My doodles of rockets.
The lint from my pockets.
A fork-like utensil.
But sorry... no pencil.
That's a great poem! :) My desk is probably just as bad!
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