poem bird

Please don't judge me too harshly. It's Friday.

Those Without Books By Closing Time Will Remain Without Books Until the Next Day

or

We Want To Go Home

One business day every week the library closes at 4

rather than 6, and the librarians depart in a mass exodus that leaves the parking lot

suddenly empty. Except that 

there is always one poor patron, wordsick,

"Oh please! I rushed here to check out books! Just a few! I forgot!"

But no. The lights are off, the special equipment shut down, pens capped,

papers filed, doors all but closed.

The patron pleads, begging as one impoverished for pennies, pittance,

"Oh please! Just a trashy romance from the paperback rack.

I have exact change!"

But no. These purveyors of information point their long fingers to the pertinent facts:

we will be open tomorrow, Saturday, from 9 to 4.

Then, drawing their metaphorical cardigans close about their shoulders,

they lock up and step squinting into the weekend sun.