PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

At first it was voluntary, the suggestion and behest of my father, who saw I was at the age where the art of perfecting laziness was my only goal in life, preferably by means of lounging on a towel in the backyard slathered in baby oil. I was too young yet to be officially paid wages other than by doing odd jobs for neighbors which didn't last long after my mother sent me to clean her friend's house which was abominable (to this day I swear that was feces I scraped off the inside of a bedroom window). I'm sure she was just trying to teach me some lesson about how only having to pick up the mess in my room wasn't so bad after all. As it happened there was a new library opening close by and my dad took me to help the librarians unpack boxes of books. Some menfolk go to bars, my dad went to the library. Instead of taking me to a park on outings, we went to the library, every Friday after he got home from work up until I started grade school. I can still recall the childrens nook at the first library we frequented and I can tell you that the first book I ever checked out was "Where The Wild Things Are", which he says I would get every other week for years (yes I have my own copy now, two of them actually:). 

I sometimes wonder what would have become of me if I had stayed in the company of those leatherbound novels and treasured tomes, the smells of ink and paper, magazines, newspapers and microfiche (which by-the-way was how information was stored long before it was immediately available at the tips of one's fingers). I shelved books, books, books and am able even now to recite the Dewey Decimal System by rote (which I am at this moment realizing is likely responsible for my ocd proclivity to categorize & label things). My favorite aisles for hiding out in - 130's Parapsychology & Occultism, 800's Literature & Poetry (specifically 822.33 Shakespeare), 700's Arts Music Fashion. When I gave my notice to leave they offered to send me to college to learn whatever it is that librarians learn but I opted out after high school into the exploration of the world at large. Funny thing, 40 years later, how like a stereotypical librarian I am; studious & ascetic, teetotaling, favored towards reading & writing and perhaps not so typically, possessing a passion for words and the way they fit together. Indeed my home is a library of sorts, piles of books everywhere, on bookshelves, couches, coffee tables and nearly every horizontal surface but a few square feet of the kitchen counter. And most of them have at least one bookmark stuck inside.

There amongst the stacks I spent my teenage years presumably out of trouble but not necessarily so; making out with my boyfriend in the projection room during "Saturday Morning Cinema at the Library", coming to work the closing shift tipsy after sultry days of summer break spent at the municipal pool sipping gin from a Fresca can with my bad-girl friend Sharon. And I learned more than I cared to about the seediness of public places (and no doubt contributed to it) from which not even the austere atmosphere of libraries are exempt (other stories for another time… works in progress; "The Gay Guy, the Trans Man and 2 Whispery Women", "The Wanted Poster", and "Don't Get in the Elevator with the Janitor"). Yes and I also learned about the myriad ways in which to have intercourse from reading Alex Comfort's seminal (oh yes I did;) how-to manual "The Joy of Sex" which was shelved openly at 613.96 until someone complained.

When I think about it now Library Page was a pretty sweet gig at minimum wage. And it wasn't a bad way to beat a teenage hangover after a night of passing around a bottle of Boone's Farm Tickle Pink with friends I couldn't live without then, but would soon never see again.