out of ink

the pen
is out of ink.
bone dry.
not a wet spot of blue
or black
on its
narrow tip.
I hardly wrote a word
with it,
not a single
check, not a single
note
to remind me of
something I might
forget.
I guess you used it
all up,
when listing
your grievances
and complaints. all
of which I filed
in
the corner basket,
balled and tossed
with good aim.