7:09 PM Library

The night, which is wet,

Stares at me through the round rubbery raindrops

Which stick loosely, to the window.

People scratch their heads, which wear headphones

Which are red and black and blue.

The halfhearted humming which hovers over from the printer, which is warm and

Longing for someone, to come and to press its buttons.

Someone walks out the door, which gives out a squeak, which is

Lonely and timid, which is like a sneeze you cannot hold in.

The coughing of someone, which is phlegmy.

The library, the passing of time, the lined paper, which are waiting

For me to write a poem, which is hard.

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