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A Poem for Mr. Sketch (reprised)

When you have a favorite office supply, you should probably write a poem about it. Here's an example.

When I conduct a train the trainer program, I often like to present the trainers with a gift of a new package of Mr. Sketch markers upon completing the course.

Earlier this week, I spent some time working with a team of trainers and once again had the pleasure of introducing the joys of my favorite office supply. During the program, a colleague asked me to do a dramatic reading of a poem I had once written about Mr. Sketch.

I wrote this poem in December 2012, the first year that I was blogging. The words of this poem ring no less true today than they did four and a half years ago. Following is a reprinting of that poem (with all new photos of people enjoying the amazing scents).

If you are so moved do your own dramatic reading of this poem and post it on YouTube and if you send me a link (bpwashburn at gmail dot com), I will send you a fresh, new package of Mr. Sketch markers.

BW and JN
Brian sniffing grape while Josie sniffs orange during a break from a Competency-based Assessment workshop

Folks have gathered

From near and from far

Taking their seats…

And there you are

Lying still

Atop the tables

An array of colors

White lettered labels

“Mr. Sketch” someone mutters

Removing your top

Writing a name tag

In the middle he stops

He sniffs

Yes, there’s definitely a hint

Could it be? Could it possibly be?!

Yes, that’s definitely mint

Raul and Rishi
Rishi samples raspberry while Raul breathes in the sweet aroma of blue mango!

Looking around

All over the room

People in suits

Huffing your perfume!

There’s apple and cinnamon,

Orange and blueberry

Licorice, grape,

Raspberry and cherry

No icebreaker needed

For strangers who walked in the door

Bond and write

And smell and smile and giggle galore

Group Photo
An entire training group in Zambia takes a break to explore the various scents

You’re simply the best

This much is true

You don’t run dry or gunk up

You don’t bleed through

The room may be too cold

Or for some it’s too hot

The mic screeches with feedback

No more coffee in the pot

The projector bulb blew

And the DVD won’t play

Mr. Sketch you are my one constant

All through the day

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