Chad Deal 6:58 p.m., May 21
Dedicated to the Central San Diego Library
The librarian's frown could wilt the freshest flowers. Frail fingers clutching my card. Hand on the trigger of her autoscan.
Said she, with a whispered hate, “Your book is late, long past the last due date, other people have to wait. Where have you been?” Said I, with feeble grin and utmost courage from within, “I've committed “cardinal” sin but every time that I begin to put him down I want him more.
Your love is an overdue library book waiting to be returned. I plucked you from life's shelf. You, so like Myself dashing, daring, honest and true, your love is non-fiction and now overdue.
But I've just started reading you, needing you, for the tenth time today. Fines rise higher, but I don't pay.
Sure there are other books, but I can't check them out. Your chapters captivate me. Your words infatuate me.
My hands on your spine. Your body on mine..mmhmm. Long Overdue, but oh I'll pay. You're fine.
And I just can't stop reading you, needing you
Go ahead!, Revoke and Banish!
For I fear neither stamps nor fines nor librarian frown,
and I'll keep you until the system goes down, and your pages are brown, and our bind comes unbound, 'till we finish the story, and the lessons are learned, your love is a library book never to be returned.