05-24-2013, 12:49 AM
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.
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.