Elegy for a Tape Measure

You were black on the outside
Yellow, in.
Centimetres, Inches
Millimetres too,
The man at the couch store gave you to me
Free with purchase
I thought after spending thousands
I’d get more.

Nonetheless we were happy
And oh, how we measured
From bookshelves to kitchens
Then ceiling to floor,
My bed in the corner
My desk not yet bought;
The pictures on the wall
You specified them all.

Then one fateful day
I don’t know what happened,
I packed you into my bag then thought,
“Just a quick double check,”
I pulled out your little sunshine strip then let go,
Woe, horrific woe,
When the stopper clip on end flew clean off
And too quickly,
You were sucked into the dark depths
Never to see light again.

I wailed for five minutes,
It did me no good,
Then ran to get dad’s trusty Old Silver,
Crying out in despair when I saw firsthand
That it only measured in feet.
Father, how could you?

Oh, my tape measure, how I adored you.
Oh, my tape measure, how I shall miss you.
Though broken you are still on my nightstand,
A testament to our time,
Numerals silenced; never to stretch again.

My home, not yet finished, craves your attention,
Untaken measurements quietly weep,
Centimetres unfulfilled;
Desolate portrait.

Oh tape measure, my life is incomplete,
My heart torn apart without you.
Had my sister not bought furniture at the same store,
Also receiving an identical free tape measure
(Which she has now given me),
I would be truly inconsolable.

R.I.P.