Lean over on the bookcase




Lost friends


Poetry and dystopian novels make up nearly all of my library now

Not so much a library

As a solitary shelf

Where once my collected volumes filled an entire wall

Of a small flat

Now my medium-sized house fairly rattles

With the absence of voices

The ranks of my old friends have been whittled away

Only Orwell now and Huxley

And one solitary Waugh to rest beside Williams, Whitman, and Frost

I wonder how all those lost now fare?

Whose fingers flick through their well-worn pages?

Or do they lie beneath time’s film untouched and unloved in mildewed boxes?

I try not to think of all those years we spent in each other’s company

They travelled often with me from home to home

But could not make my greatest odyssey

An issue of weight


Today I bought a copy of Ulysses by Joyce

Soon, I’ll need a second shelf.




Words and image are my own.






3 thoughts on “Lean over on the bookcase

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