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Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Walking up to the circulation desk,
books in one hand
library card in the other
Sliding books across the shiny, marble counter top
to the woman, who stands tall on the other side
with her mother-of-pearl rimmed glasses
nestled in the crevice of her full bosom
the glasses hang from her neck
on a glass beaded chain
She asks for my card
and without a word I place it in her open palm
I'm holding my breath as 
She slides the card smoothly, then frowns
Her lips part and she begins to speak-
But my body's turning
I'm running
I'm running before she gets me
Before she grabs my collar and shakes me
Before I'm locked up for being such a bad bibliophile 
There's a hold on my account
I'm banned 
I'm black-listed
I'm prohibited
There's a hold on my account
and I can't check out any more books

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