SLIPPING THE SHELVES
Skim shelves of old typography,
letters that have faded into age.
Some in their ninth life, pawed at
so many times. New pairs of eyes.
Many were packaged in cereal boxes,
snapped open by children at breakfast.
The faint smell of cornflakes still lingers
on the musty pages of yellow, placed
alphabetically: Beckett, Blyton, Brontë.
On plywood shelves, they mingle:
Famous Five and Malory Towers girls,
waiting to be plucked like butter-cups.
But as fingertips brush worn spines,
one slips, hides from the grain of wood.
Pull the shelving away to see
only where it has not fallen.
of her elbows
in the salt wind.
bob along in
the ombré sea,