At The Library
Sometimes I find myself sitting in the back corner of the library,
like some bored owl in the dark sitting on a branch.
Watching.
Listening.
Occasionally yawning and flexing my wings.
Something screeches to my left,
It sounds like a chair being dragged helplessly against its
will.
Tires scream from the outside of the building,
like a vehicular murder just took place.
The ceiling lights above me are way too bright,
it’s almost as if I’m staring at a small, mocking sun.
Maybe I’m just more tired than I thought?
From my view the library looks like a shelf forest.
Said forest being filled with many organized dead trees,
neat and stacked straight up in a row,
and sometimes even crooked like a line of drunken soldiers.
They're just begging me to pick them up to read.
Two girls gossip at the table behind me.
I pretend it’s just the books talking.
A laugh in one corner,
that sounds like an animal hacking the end of its life away.
No offense.
I can hear the printer purring and whining,
just waiting for someone to use it like those poor books on
the shelves.
The color and pattern of the carpet is questionable,
I wonder if the carpet had any say in it?
There's someone skipping around,
keychains jingling loud and clear,
like some strange bell fairy.
I wonder if they're in a hurry?
Sometimes it's fun to just sit back,
watch,
and listen.
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