I had stopped at the crosswalk of an intersection while walking the streets of Baltimore.
Looking downward I noticed a pencil, new and freshly sharpened, laying in the curb.
It seemed out of place among the refuse and regolith the busy streets had left behind.

Manager’s special

I thought to pick it up – But what if someone were to see, I would be collecting refuse from the roadside.
It was tainted now – no longer new and pristine – merely by having shared proximity with such discarded waste.

Like dented cans at the super market, no one buys them for the most part, because no one buys them.
We don’t so much think that the contents are not good, but just because we would rather not take the chance.
it was not just the regular number two type pencil we once used for taking test – no, this was the costly drawing type of pencil, and not much used at that.

I left the pencil there, because the traffic light had changed and the social norm would have me cross the street.
I left the pencil there so as not to greedily grasp every chance at art – as I once felt an obligation to do.
I left the pencil there on acknowledgement of my limitations, and the promise of the next artist who will surely  come this way.