My Book

My Book
Christopher Bogart

I bought it at Borders a few days ago.
It sat on the shelf
Somewhat surreptitiously –
Wedged between thick volumes
Of better known authors -
Half-hidden,
Yet curiously coy.

Suddenly, I found myself
Hanging,
Precariously,
On the horns of a dilemma –
Should I purchase the Pope,
(Alexander, that is),
The Milton,
Or the Dylan Thomas?
The Ogden Nash appeared
Much more impressive
Than this little volume,
Which,
On close scrutiny,
Seems somewhat pedantic,
Overly alliterative -
And a little full of itself.

But,
As I held this slim tome
For closer scrutiny,
I heard a faint voice -
The plaintive melody
Of a song that was, at once,
So simple,
And yet so longing
To be heard.

I felt I must adopt it as my own.

Later,
As I walked to my car,
I could still hear it humming
That same plaintive song.