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The Secret Library
Oz Hardwick
Words hide behind a bland faŤade, carefully
arranged in codes of whim and chance, secret ciphers
for those in the know, as store fronts stand guard, distracting
prying eyes before blending into the Saturday crowd, arousing
no suspicion, and plain-clothes librarians smuggle lines
through edgy customers, creep unseen up the back stairs
to sink into leather armchairs, surrounded by books and silence.
Out in the street, frustrated car horns blare, irate
parents berate impatient children, and a homeless loner
raises his head to a sound like turning pages, distant
thunder, flowers falling hard from the cloudless sky.
