Barnes & Nobel

I was searching for a quiet place
to sit amidst the books.
And, surprisingly,
it was quite a difficult task.

I wandered around upstairs for a while,
But it was all business, magazines,
and sales ethics...
To many people.

So I proceed to venture downstairs
amongst the fiction.
Bizzare sights were present.
Male models...
a pretty picture,
yet a repulsive subject.
Still to many people.

Ah, finally!
Over there in that corner,
I see not a soul...
but its the poetry section.

And that makes me sad,
That no one is even attempting
to capture the endless words
of Sandburg, Hughes, Whitman,
...or even Millay.

But then I smile,
More for me right?

So I sit and begin to write this,
But the seven-year-old boys down the isle
are screaming about how cool the gun is,
And this makes me sad as well,
only without the ponderous smile.
They are far to young
to contain such thoughts.

They are leaving
because their mother is tired.

Be careful with that gun.
You'll shoot your eye out.

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