YESTERDAY’S NEWS
Joseph Veronneau
I seem overly approachable
at the bookstore,
employees blurring by in
Name tags and store-brand
t-shirts.
Spotting the text I’d been
looking for, I sat in a chair
at the end of the aisle.
Ten minutes into self-enjoyment:
Can I help you sir?
No, I’m all set, thanks.
I relieved my burdened bladder
in the restroom, and came back
to an empty chair;
my book removed, bodies multiplying
in each aisle, as if books
had become a new fast-food.
Names of famous authors mentioned
together by heavily-droned
lips, as if authors were to
be had like a combo meal.
I decided to shove off,
suddenly feeling a grumbling
in my gut.
