He writes the word HAPY with one P.
I tell him, Honey, happy has two p's.
He flips the pencil, so that the pink nub
hugs the paper.
I'm so stupid, he says, his arm zigzagging
in a wild trajectory past the edge
and back. The paper buckles, crimps.
He keep scrubbing,
little black crumbs of eraser
swarm like gnats over the surface.
The crossbar of the H smears, fades,
disappears and so does the A,
the P's big belly, the crook of the Y,
all the letters gone and still he presses
harder, the heavy graded paper abrading.
A little hole worms its way through
to the tabletop. I'm so stupid, he yells,
ripping the paper to pieces. You're not, I say.
Yes, I am, like a verdict. I'm so stupid.

Grey Held

Grey Held is a 2004 winner of the National Endowment for the Arts grant for poets, and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize XXVIII by Slipstream Magazine.