You can tell a lot about a town
By its used book stores
My town has just one
And all the books are bad
Not one book of poetry in the place
The rest of the books
Are pretty shallow
Sort of like the people
Here
One used book store
Ten bars
One hundred churches

You can tell a lot about a town
By its used book stores

we have one here
just on the edge of town
with a fake rock facade, constructed in half a day with half as much thought
molded of prefab steel
designed by the minds at the architect battery farm

one used bookstore
filled, all 4500 sq feet of brand new primo commercial over priced real estate
built on top of old family land sold to the highest bidder after the urban sprawl sprawled so far south
on the edges of the midwest corridor super highway, slicing through the heartland
filled, with every book you've ever been told you must read
... to be considered well read
filled, with enough vampire mini series to keep a town like this piling into one of two movie theatres
filled, with minimum wage employees who may or may not have pink hair and a piece of cartilage pierced
filled, with the books you either did or did not get around to reading, most likely the latter
.... considering their fate
filled, with half priced books

a name which lost its meaning in a trademark, all rights reserved.

My Dog from Hell

It was the day I got laid off
Boss said I was lazy

I heard that word
On my way back home
With each footstep through the snow

La-zy, laz-y, la-zy

With a cold key
In an old door
I twisted the knob

From a blue void
I stepped into the orange glow
Of my lazy world
Reeking of patchouli
And crock-pot stew

Saw my dog, Tessie, lying on the couch
Awakened from a dream

“We're professionals here,” said my boss.
“Everybody works long hours.”

Tessie blinked her
Coal-black teddy bear eyes
Smiled immediately

“You just don't get it,” said my boss.
“When you get to this level, you have to sacrifice.”

She leapt to greet me
Turning pirouettes in the air
Jumping so high
Nipping at my fingers
With her tiny hell-hound fangs

I said, “Did he sacrifice, Tessie?”
“When he bought that membership to the Denver Country Club?”
“Or when his wife toured Europe last summer?”

Tessie rolled on her back
And offered me her belly

I trudged past her to my bedroom
Loosened my tie
Collapsed on the mattress

My attache sprung open
As it hit the wall
A flurry of pseudo-code
Littered my world

“I thought you were more mature than that,” said my boss.

Like
A furry little Lipizzaner
Tessie huffed and marched
With high paws through the
Blizzard of hard copy

She laid down on my chest
Licked me on the nose

Darkly, outside my window
The winter's gloom gathered

I pushed her off
“Not now!”
Rolled to my side

All of me
Turned against the world
Wingtips
Pleated pants
Bill Blass silk tie
Yves Saint Laurent jacket

Unfazed
At the base of my back
She curled into a little ball
Facing the doorway
And guarded me from demons
As I wept

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