poem: bookstore

I want to work in a bookstore
I want to stand in alphabetical order
alongside Plath and Poe
and wander over to Dickens
after a short stop at Twain
and a cup of tea with Angelou
and a long visit with King, Stephen
all thrilling fun and painful insight

I want to work in a bookstore
and show you the way to a chair
with your stack of books in hand
wishing you could buy them all
and taking the preview for all it's worth
and watching you find a page
that you must own
that you must remember

I want to work in a bookstore
that's dark and cozy
and smells of secret worlds
and magical truths
that makes me wish for a long, long life
and a speed reading class
and a memory that is endless
and a comfy chair