Pencil Shavings: Recycling

She sits on the chair, playing her harp, swaying back and forth, wrinkling my old prom dress.
[Chloe Volkwein, Greenwich, CT]

When Rufina Rex was old enough to hold a pair of scissors, she would cut the beautiful, synthetic hair of her dolls and gather the curls, which she would then try to glue to her daddy’s chin.
[Kimberly MacCormack, Dover, MA]

He could hear the whispers as he walked down the row of cubicles, and he knew—oh, he just knew—that they were all talking about his penis, because Olivia could never keep her mouth shut.
[Daphne Reed, Asheville, NC]

Yes, Love, it does make me feel good, but don’t you think we could do something besides the toenail thing tonight?
[Gabriella Fee, Lincoln, MA]

In response to publishing houses’ increased exploitation of the non-renewable resource “Oedipus,” measures have been taken by word-misers everywhere to ensure “Oedipal energy sustainability”: plots and poems made of blind men, of plagues, and of strangely oblivious and youthful mothers can be scrapped at recycling plants and broken down into their raw material.
[Kevin Hong, Needham, MA]

My brother sat on the bed, rumpled from his date with Cara and tired from last night with Maria, and said, “I feel like a tin can.”
[Laura Wanamaker, Chatham, MA]

Got a Pencil Shaving of your own for “Recycling”? Send it in!
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