Inside My Backpack

Inside are
the many books
and binders of the student
personalized by my hand’s mindless wanderings.
The drumsticks go marching by
bearing the wounds
of an over-zealous drummer.
They are tossed by the earthquake
that shakes this dark world
as it moves from here to there.
Two books lie side by side,
whispering their words to each other.
A ruler, a calculator,
flyers that were never read,
and test papers with their grades marked red,
share a place in my backpack.
A chocolate wrapper still lairs in the blank space,
the candy it once protected
is now just a memory.
The new pencils and pens,
flashes of vibrant colors,
listen as the ancient erasers from the year before,
bent over and bruised with age,
tell of the adventures of their youth
mixing truth with lies
until even they can’t remember which is which.
A broken key chain,
its metallic pink still bright,
smiles knowingly
as her pig ears catch
the sounds of the tall tales
and causes her to think back the days before.
For she was once clanging with the others of her kind
but now she is silent
finding no metal to sing with.