i ran out of shelf space for all the books
in my office,
so now there’s a whole bunch of books in the backseat of my car,
and when i see someone in need,
i toss them a book,
i just hope they’re not
spending all the wealth i give them
on liquor and drugs
i keep telling myself that everything i read
makes me a little more educated,
but if you were to ask me, or quiz me,
on what i read last year,
or even last week,
there’s a chance i wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly what
was happening in the book or article,
maybe a few keep points, you know, the broad strokes of it all,
but i’m not one of those types of people that can memorize lines and lines
of books to quote at sophisticated dinner parties that serve
red wine with spinach quiches,
rather i’m the type of person that confuses the plot
of catch-22 with that of the kandy-kolored tangerine-flake streamline baby,
but not in a charming sort of way
where the transgression can be forgiven because of my lack of memory,
but more so where the guests at the dinner party sort of pity me,
and the rest of the night is spent in awkward silence
before the rest of the guests collect their designer coats and bags
made from farm animals that sound nothing like the cartoons as they’re being slaughtered,
and everyone goes home a little sad and disappointed,
but not me, since, as my wife points out afterward,
i’m too damn ignorant for my own damn good
She buys books. She buys thousands of books. Millions, in fact. Billions, perhaps. She buys more books than any library in the world.
But she doesn’t read them. She doesn’t have the time. Instead, she builds. Miles of books stacked one on top of another. They peak into the stratosphere. The structure shadows over the world. People begin questioning why she’s stacking so many books. A TYRANNY OF BOOKS, people say.
She replies, I’M DYSLEXIC. I BUILT A CITY OF BOOKS BEFORE I ALLOWED THEM TO BUILD THE CITY FOR ME.
No one responded. And she never read any book.
Fred Aiken Writing 