A year ago, I upgraded my calculator ahead of my maths A Level. A few days ago, I lost it in school, and I reckon it's now gone forever. It may be somewhere at home, but I cannot find it anywhere. As such, I've grown to accept it's likely to have been stolen, and it's time to move on. But not before I write a poem.
Found on an ad-riddled website,
amongst various models with sales
attached to their listings.
Arrived inside a hard, white, oyster shell,
a brand imprinted on its skin,
mechanical, precise core.
The shell was scratched and etched
with pencil lines and compass markings,
the buttons began to wear down
and the screen began bleeding.
Countless exams later, and various
integrations past, nearly fifty chapters
and thousands of pages gone,
it was cruelly stolen by someone
who'll never regard you the same,
like I did.
Don't worry, I'm over it, honest.
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