by Kasey Shultz
The adrenaline is outta control
When you dropped that book in the bin,
Dog-eared pages smelling of tomato sauce
Where the tantalizing pull of those words
Trapped you in their web,
Distracting you from the mundanity of spaghetti,
You never thought you were fueling a showdown
Worthy of ballads, headlines, cinema, poetry.
We take it in stride
Unlike our stressed-out hyped-up East Coast compatriots
You forgot about its soft, flimsy cover,
Out of sight
Like checked luggage and landfills,
Out of mind.
When you see it on the shelf,
Tucked between books full of words
With more than two syllables,
You won’t wonder about its odyssey
Through mechanical traps and dusty bins,
Scanned, sorted, stacked, sent, shelved.
You won’t know how it made its way back to you.
But they will.