I remember from somewhere the phraze
"Make it new".
Even I can't retell the same story twice
to the same person
whose alreadry heard the same story once.

Your never to old to hang out at the library
Especially if you've wrapped your car
around an electric pole a week earlier.

Feeling as giddy as I could feel,
walking the ilses while waitting for a ride home.
Swiftly to the one place in the library
I know as my retreat from all things mature.
Rounding corners with a pace
and purpose of meeting dead authors
that i know so well.
hidden in a social setting
My neglected treasure
of printed influences.
the poetry section

i turned the last corner
and dropped my jaw in awe.
two teenagers are doing the tounge tango
between edna stvincent millay
and tennesse willaims.
The three of us all gasped to attention
not imediatly comprehending the complexity
of the impeding moment
we stood there in ackwardness
looking at each other
and briefly comtemplating if
one of the three of us was
was going to leave.

then before i could blink their giggles
erupted into a wurl wind cyclone
of backpacks and braclets
undarkend hickies and an exiting
frollic of theatrical proportions
swuned to the back of the isle
like i was some kind of freakish ghoul
mildly making them uncomfortable
i'm not sure wich one was
the girl or the boy at that point

lieing on the floor
my jaw unhindged
my eye browes still anchored
by some perplexity unforeseen.
stillness past over me like
the stoppping of the wind.
conjeston and my senses
raised my attention back to focus.
a final thought grumbled from
under my lips;

what do these kids think,
no one reads this stuff.
that they can just hide out
back here in paradise
playing the hickie suffle
all afternoon?