Pursuit of Perfection

I am an eraser

on a #2 pencil

bought new

in 1967.

I am still pink and pliable

with sharp edges

untouched by use.

I've been forgotten

here in a desk drawer

lost to time.

My owner died last Tuesday

never looking back

to correct and change

even the small mistakes

in their life.

In the pursuit of perfection

or perhaps

non-acknowledgement of narcism

I alone remain perfect.