Growing tired of my endless library
of books I could not read
I began to give them all away.
The garage sale slowly dispensed with half of them
and the library half the remainder
but bored with the process I began
leaving them places they might be loved:
on the hot hoods of parked cars,
rubber-banded to bikes chained
to downtown parking meters,
on peopleless shaded park benches,
in grocery store carts adrift in the parking lot,
on the counter of restrooms propped against the mirror
safe from water.
The last stop was the thrift store
where they took the three final boxes
and stacked them between stereos and keyboards.
I drove home relieved,
the burden of books receding
into the comfortable traffic.
  (Better for them
and for me.)
Ahead these hours
are clean
and unencumbered
and stacked with uncertainty.

          about “library” | all the poems >


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