I’m hardly able to absorb
the titles dancing under neon lights
tableaus of paint, vivid and lazy haze
spread in loaves of sweet, coloured bread
for congregation

It is not before I stretch my hand out
trickle it slowly, reading with eyes of fingers,
down the soaring pile
or when a lady asks me
if I’m interested in gardening and decor

that I find myself standing
in an entirely different section
A 72-pt, Arial print-out
barking the secret in my face

I wonder if it were a veteran who asked
what are you looking for, son
would I have really told
nothing really, just thinking
of raisin ice-cream, sir
or how if a tow truck itself fell into the gorge
it would be like
the plight of democracy, sir

Fortunately no one asks me a thing
I’m that repulsive
Invisible, at least
especially to that girl
in spectacles and long summer scarf

I forgot to wear deodourant I reckon

but when do I not

When do I buy
from the book fair
or for that matter, the book shop
When do I ever

I just go there to feel
humble and small



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