I can't recall if I've posted this or not, but it reflects my love of books.
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The baby, the bills, the roof?
Was Jean an old lover, discovered at last?
Fini with Jean. With poetry. With the escape to Paris.
What books interest you now, Dan?
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The Fifty Cent Poetry Book Found in A Bin
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I found the poetry book in the clearance bin.
Your book, Dan. From Jean.
Once you’d underlined passages and turned down pages. And now, here it is, with Jazzercize and Wham.
That strange smell, a CSI cross of cat lady house and moss. What path took it here?
Your notes, still visible in the margins.
Did your love of verse die, or did you?
Your belongings piled into a box without thought
With texts deemed of no value.
Or did age make you lose interest in words,
As the everyday beat-down blues hit?
Your book, Dan. From Jean.
Once you’d underlined passages and turned down pages. And now, here it is, with Jazzercize and Wham.
That strange smell, a CSI cross of cat lady house and moss. What path took it here?
Your notes, still visible in the margins.
Did your love of verse die, or did you?
Your belongings piled into a box without thought
With texts deemed of no value.
Or did age make you lose interest in words,
As the everyday beat-down blues hit?
Was Jean an old lover, discovered at last?
Fini with Jean. With poetry. With the escape to Paris.
What books interest you now, Dan?
Does Lord Byron still tempt? Like the ice cream hidden, but not forgotten.
Should we meet, Dan, I have your book.
My own passages underlined now, along with yours.
We can escape together.
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