The Book Store

There is dust in the sunlight

slanting from the roof

and you are lost in Poetry,

or is it New Fiction?

We are all lost, here

Where the shelves lean

out to talk, nudge shoulders

and the books beckon.

The books smell

of people’s homes;

where they lay undisturbed

or hidden, or put out for effect.

They have come here to wait:

for you and your eyes.

For your hand – to feel

the ridge of a spine, feel

the raised lettering:

I am yours. Take me.

Let my words spill

before the pain of your eyes.

I will be in Poetry.

In a soft chair, waiting

4 thoughts on “The Book Store”

  1. Cheers for that John….they were all over the place back in the day…even the small rural towns usually had one….trademe just isn’t quite the same.

  2. Then you must get yourself to the old grain store book barn on State Highway One, between Christchurch and Ashburton. You will need a spare hour – or more. It was the inspiration (?) for this.

Leave a Reply