poetry

Ok, I just had to drag this out of the comments section. It's too good to be left there. Thank you, Monster Librarian, for running with my idea. This is just amazing.

He moved sullenly through the house
seemingly thwarted by the dish of bananas,
which sat upon a hideous macramé coaster of sorts
that a lover had made once.

His senses heightened as he entered the kitchen
the smell of peanut butter
invoking memories of seashells and horses,
children’s literature his grandmother had once read.

A grandmother who reeked of Borax,
who loved him as blindly as he had once loved carnivals.
But that was ages ago
before self-help and psychotherapy had gotten to him.

Tired of his life in lawn care
He dreamt of library science
And a possible career in Liverpool
where he would master the Dewey Decimal System like a mathematician bent on mastering hexadecimals.

He would sort books with ease
Quarantining the books on dragons and tracheotomies and elevators
from each other
as his ex-lover had quarantined him from her existence.

--Monster Library Student