Whatever I think
I put down in ink,
Especially when I drink,
Drink upon drink,

Though I sound like a dink,
I’ll write without blink,
So that in a wink
My ideas don’t slink
Past memory’s brink.

The notepad is my sink,
Where I cleanse each kink
In all that I think,
Hoping it’ll one day link
To something that doesn’t stink.

To “Pink, Shrink, and Crink,” sorry, but you didn’t make the cut. We were rooting for you, “Crink,” even if you’re made-up. Maybe you’ll make it into the next notepad-inspired nourishing idea: Something Not Write.