Olive Oil

I let the olive oil seep into my desk,

wearily, one can try to absorb it

(Oil is youth they said, live forever.)

my writings, stained, creased, STICKY.

         the fountain pen leaked an oily substance, inky, dark.

smeared, it blackened out my work, my book,

discolouring the pages of my new novel
        "Oh no! Rubber duck!"

I shout; Sforzando.