sometimes after borrowing and reading a book
that i checked out from the library
i will leave pieces of processed cheese
or washed lettuce or slices of seasoned heirloom tomatoes
in between the pages of the book,
and so i guess if someone,
like the librarian,
were to ever go through those books at the same time,
then they might be able to make themselves
a fairly decent lunch,
just so long as they used the pages as bread,
because i forgot the bread
while reading the squatter and the don,
i wonder which i am,
to whom, to where, to what,
do i belong,
and if this book gives me a papercut,
then, does that not mean that i can put it down
and never contemplate the pain it has caused me
these many moons that seem so endlessly forgotten,
though if there’s one take away from the squatter and the don,
i think it’s that i can go to any plot of land,
claim it as my own,
and there’s not a damn thing you could do about it,
except maybe shoot me,
but don’t shoot me,
i carry my mortality with me wherever i go
forgotten ideas in a book
look the same when they’re not memorized,
though i suppose they’re not as catchy,
but they can still be quite kitschy,
though only if those ideas are caught
Fred Aiken Writing 