I don't want to read
all there is to read.
Really, I don't.
All these lovely stories
that sound so charming. And
often end so common place.
I write them myself. Of course
not commonplace, though!
Really don't want to read other's
except they beg me. Like a kitten
scratching at my ankles
for attention they beg me to caress their
lines with my eyes. To share
their turn of events. To turn the page
and keep up with the story. I do, and feel
good afterwards, like when I share
a cup of coffee with Mary even though
I should have gone on with the house cleaning.
Turning the pages I find about foreign
lands exciting characters, though more
often than not about people like me who also
enjoy and survive and hurt and read about
others like me.