She Doesn't Work Here Anymore

[rowens]

I couldn't help but stare at her over my book,
her and the little brunette next to her
at the front desk.
I wasn't really reading Murphy by Beckett;
it was just something to pretend.

She usually works Thursdays, they stay open later
so it's easier for me to get a ride.
The last young girl they had in here was a real bitch
to me; and they are just hired help,
they didn't go to college to be a librarian,
and they don't last long.

The older woman, with dark hair
that still seems to think she's sixteen,
she's a treat too.
A lot thinner though.
I can sit and watch them pushing that cart
and loading and reloading the audio book
shelves for hours.

I stare over the catalogues listing books
they don't have: Miller, Cendrars, Celine,
Ibsen, Strindberg; not even Villon and Baudelaire,
which is not surprising since this is only a community
college town.
No poseurs or hipsters here; only
the small town innovation you see on tv.

I only would like to hide behind books by those names
because they're easier to just pretend
like you're into them.

And I really know they work different days and
hours here, that most likely my sweet blonde still works here;
I just miss her when she's not around, and I worry.

We've only talked about my allergies, and how
the books I'm always looking for
are the books that always get stolen...
has she "made that grim connection?..."

Maybe I just like the same kinds of books that thieves
like. Though I know,
by her face,
she could never be into me.
She has the face of a Southern belle;
and I doubt she dresses in this style
when she's not at work.
...One time she dyed her hair red
just because it was Valentine's day.

She's a Southern girl, and I'm
an Eastern man.
We both just so happen to occupy
the South East.
The South is rich with tradition,
and a funny place.
They'll think you're crazy if you believe
you have supernatural powers,
as they fearfully mob together
to protect themselves from your powers.

No. I believe she still works there.
It's me that hasn't been around in a while.

[cidermaid]

This has a softer and more reflective feel to it than some of your other poetry. It reads sweetly, it almost has a sound in my head like the scene in the Forrest Gump film when he is on the bench waiting for the bus and talking to the different people who sit next to him...I feel like the conversation is rolling on through time reguardless of who is listening.
It is very nicely done. The last line of each stanza is each a beautiful statment and snapshot of life.
And i love how you have ended this.
All the best AJ.

[rowens]

I said I wrote another poem at night. And this was one I finished in the late morning.

I've talked about seasonal influences; and I'm morbidly sensitive to times of day too. And lighting. It might be kind of reckless to live that way. But I want to live that way.

[Bunx]

the deep south.. i wish i was going on tour so i could meet you in noure 'liens. but i am not because of what i have. regaurdless the south scares boys like me up into the mountains. even if we don't get scared. or should be.

anyways rowens

your poem is great!

the mythic rhythm is something i would find a southern gentleman to write, in regards to a sweetie.
it puts me to sleep with it warm tone.

but

its modern connotations and denotations make it (i feel) quite repeatable and utterly relatable.

[James]

Thanks for sharing this Rowens, I actually prefer longer works like these. I can only dream of going to the south like your in here, it sounds pretty interesting, much better than the north, or really anything is better than Paterson, New Jersey (Anything :/). This kept me entertained throughout the entire poem, it was a pretty strange way to go about things, but its most likely how I would do it. But great poem man, and definitely, she definitely looks like a completely different person outside.

[rowens]

Both of you can come to the South any time you want. It's a free country and it belongs to us. People just like to make things sound more complicated than they are. Though I get caught in my own traps too.

I've been in most Northern states. I've only been called a Southern gentleman twice: once just now, and once in a taxi cab in Watertown, MA. But really he was just trying to hit on the girl that was with me, and hoping she wasn't my girlfriend.

[billy]

i almost got lost in it it didn't feel forced or imagined, it felt real. it read like an open door on a breezy day. loved it.

[rowens]

Usually I'm angry when I write. This one, I was just enjoying the room temperature.

[Brownlie]

I couldn't help but stare at her over my book,
her and the little brunette next to her
at the front desk.
I wasn't really reading Murphy by Beckett;
it was just something to pretend.

She usually works Thursdays, they stay open later
so it's easier for me to get a ride.
The last young girl they had in here was a real bitch
to me; and they are just hired help,
they didn't go to college to be a librarian,
and they don't last long.

The older woman, with dark hair
that still seems to think she's sixteen,
she's a treat too.
A lot thinner though.
I can sit and watch them pushing that cart
and loading and reloading the audio book
shelves for hours.

I stare over the catalogues listing books
they don't have: Miller, Cendrars, Celine,
Ibsen, Strindberg; not even Villon and Baudelaire,
which is not surprising since this is only a community
college town.
No poseurs or hipsters here; only
the small town innovation you see on tv.

I only would like to hide behind books by those names
because they're easier to just pretend
like you're into them.

And I really know they work different days and
hours here, that most likely my sweet blonde still works here;
I just miss her when she's not around, and I worry.

We've only talked about my allergies, and how
the books I'm always looking for
are the books that always get stolen...
has she "made that grim connection?..." -- This idea of stealing from the library is interesting

Maybe I just like the same kinds of books that thieves
like. Though I know,
by her face,
she could never be into me.
She has the face of a Southern belle; -- What does that look like?
and I doubt she dresses in this style
when she's not at work.
...One time she dyed her hair red
just because it was Valentine's day.

She's a Southern girl, and I'm -- How is she southern can you describe her voice?
an Eastern man.
We both just so happen to occupy
the South East.
The South is rich with tradition, -- How So?
and a funny place.
They'll think you're crazy if you believe
you have supernatural powers,
as they fearfully mob together
to protect themselves from your powers. -- Is there a scene or particular instance of this happening?

No. I believe she still works there.
It's me that hasn't been around in a while.

I feel like this poem is about lonliness I could be wrong. Thanks for posting.

[serge gurkski]

I like it throughout. Indeed, it is softer, as has been said above.
I, too, would be interested in the Southern face. I have a picture in my head but that has more to do with dresses and hair style.

[rowens]

This is one of my "talking" poems, and some might think they suffer from the American gift for understatement. The girl in this shows up briefly in a short novel I made called No One To Hold When the End Comes; and I can try to add a scene describing her "Southern face" to that. And the difference between that face in the Old South and now. There's more room for digressions in novels.

I can't function well in the South, at least in rural areas like this. But there are dark, supernatural undercurrents that I'm drawn to in some places in the deep South. Places themselves that get down deep in you, and hold to you with something stronger and deeper than roots. You can never really have it out with these things and get away with it.