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I Chose Books Barry Butson Woodstock, Ontario |
I Chose Books At college, which were you?? I was the one too scared to enter The Great Hall for meals, the one who ate peanut butter in his rented, basement room. Too petrified to sit near the front of classrooms for fear of being questioned. Too breathless to answer. Armpit sweat scared. In love with every girl on campus but too shy to say hello. Any parties I broached, went drunk and stayed that way. Passed my courses only because I studied as maybe my 29th choice. Suppose that’s how most scholars are hatched. Surrounded by books and so much else they couldn’t have, they chose books. I buried myself for five years. Not a soul knew I was there. I was a moth someone shut a book on, a book never again to be opened, a moth flattened to the day of discovery by another sad sod, pimply archivist. When not even dust from my wings marked my spot. Barry Butson [Return to Psychopoetica home page] ©The contents of this page are copyright protected.
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