a winter solstice poem (still under construction)

new books arrived in the laundry room
(my wife lets me do laundry more often since I retired)

German novels, African American history,
Native American languages, British plays -
I thumb through all the new additions,

while the whites wash and the colors dry. 
An eclectic collection, well kept (I can tell) and
carefully read by a conscientious reader,

perhaps a tenant, now departed, her books
abandoned, left behind to testify
on her (or his) behalf.  And launderers

like me now benefit from such largesse.
I thumb through them all,
and wonder will my volumes end up here.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

ModPo essay #4: Prepositions and Infinitives: A Mayer Experimental and Randomized Index

ModPo essay #1: Emily Dickinson's Initiation Rite of Passage

High school poems - Summer, 1973