IN THE STACKS
So many old friends
upstanding on long shelves
safe between strangers,
holding secrets to all but me
My fingers run over
the keyboard of colored spines,
titles and titlers
names and namers,
Dewey Decimal’d,
stamped and branded,
stood and squeezed tight
between their fellows.
Gravitas is de rigeure
until the kids come in.
They all know the library
is a travel agency.
Hard cover is a hill
I can die on, looking down
on e-books, shutting my ears
to books on tape.
Eyes sweep back and forth
like an Underwood carriage,
nose full of lignin.
dusty, musty, vanilla sweet.
But why ‘stacks’?
The books are not stacked,
they’re soldier-rowed
like bullets in a magazine.
Various librarians
like the little old one
who turned on my switch.
“Here, you’ll like this one.”
Ah, Miss Allie, did you know
how important you were to me?
How you shaped me?
I like to think you did.
All the rules are good.
Quiet, fast, takeout service
With no limit on groceries
To feed imaginations.
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