Oct 15

Yep, Another Library Pome

by Tim Murray

“Hello horses!” said the horse. — Bernard Wiseman

Clark Coolidge musta stubbed his big toe
While carrying a platter of words
Spilled ‘em all over the page he did

And I’m gonna make it outta this hogdamn
Generation without getting tattooed
Yeah I’m an old hermit grouch
Peering from behind the grumpy broken blinds
Of my rented corner of the moon

Besides what sort of ink on skin do I
Wanna drag with me to the grave
There’s gonna be a lotta saggy skinned
Old farts mumbling through their toothless gums
In futuristic rest homes trying to
Recall to android nurses just what
Exactly their tattoos used to exclaim
And/or resemble

Skipped class again hello library!
I’m lost
Lost in books
I’m lost
Lost in newspapers
I’m lost to noise
I’m alone
(I’m afraid)

Dang library used to be the bastion of silence
Now people just shuffle around gab gab gab
And cell phone boom chicka boom chicka ring tones sound
I want silence hogfuckit!

Through the window just above my left shoulder
The towering white cross of a Methodist church
Keeps watch over busy intersection cars chuggle
A girl presses button waits for walk signal grows impatient
And walks against the wishes of the signal which
Shouts in orange electric letters don’t walk don’t walk

I’d go to class if I wasn’t so flippin’ bored
I’d go to class if I didn’t feel like I was
Just another number in a high stakes bingo game
Attending class to collect points they call credit hours
Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!
And there ain’t even anything happening in class
That’s as exciting as attending a bingo game down at the local
Rows and rows of tables lined with dozens of blue haired dandies
Who sit with delightful curled yellow cigarette lip
Their lucky stuffed animals and trinkets staring into the smoky wood paneled oblivion

Why can’t they make dumb college courses like an arcade?
As students rack up points (credit hours)
There should be reams and reams of tickets spewing from the desks
Complete with buzzers and bells
And at the end of a long academic arcade day
All the students could count their tickets and cash ’em in
For Tootsie Rolls and plastic spider rings
But never a degree
No never a degree

The lady in front of me in the express lane
At the supermarket today
Spent $35 on her groceries
And $52 on a carton of cigarettes
(I’m not sure what the socio-political ramifications of such an act are
I only know that the lady in front of me in the express lane at the supermarket today spent
$35 on her groceries and topped off her order with a $52 carton of cigarettes)

Getting back to cell phones for a minute:
Funny how someone will be walking around in library
And all of the sudden their front pocket will explode in
A fury of the aforementioned boom chicka boom chicka ring tone
And they’ll scurry in panic to answer
They they’ll close phone and return it to front pocket
Then saunter over to tired lady seated at reference desk
And ask in hush hush whisper “Can you direct me to Deepak Chopra?”

I’m bored
And you dear old reader are probably yawing at this point too
How about this…
I turn 33 this March and ye olde gray hair has started
To peek through my brown mop and reddish whiskers
But I vow not to stock up on Grecian 5 now matter how
Sexy hot Keith Hernandez looks in those commercials

Yes I’m bored board Boer’d
Suppose I’ll build me a world

(dolci frutta)

Her: I’m here to help you
Him: I’m trying to write
Her: I brought chocolate
Him: I’ll voluntarily destroy my pen

Old 16 Ounces captured by the advancing Yanks
While lounging on his Rapallo couch
His chin whiskers tangled with the cantos of worry
The Yanks brought in a large iron cage
Once used to house military police dogs
They lined the cold black floor with paper scraps and rags
They placed a small wooden stool in the center
And young red cheeked GIs
From Nebraska or Iowa or who knows where
Would often stroll past the cage with widdled sticks
To stab a poke at the silent old man
Perched like a dignified gargoyle in the dust
Does time exonerate the sharpened sticks of life
Regardless of the offense?

Wimmen make me wanna pluck my eyes outta my skull
Everydarnwhere I go the distraction of beautiful wimmens
They occupy libraries, sidewalks, grocery stores
They walk with cute scarves tucked cutely
Against the biting winds of February
They tempt me with words like “Paper or plastic, Sir?”
I often wonder
If it’s possible that the constant way they
Ignore me is actually a form of flirtation?

Please leave your
Hopes, dreams and anxieties
On the table

We will put them away for you

Thank you

“The White Wizard’s Helper”