For my people who duck behind shelves:
Hunched at the bottom
And fingers flicking over titles
For my people who blink, star eyed:
At diction pages, gibberish
At covers far too wide apart
For my people who twaddle-walk:
Under the weight of the classics
To the glassy gawks of the programmed mass
I salute you
Shatter-edge papers tucked in pages
Scribble notes, quotes, and articles for later
For my people who proudly slide over:
Cracked, warped, yellow-signatured,
Plastic remnants through washer trips.
Slim paper snicks are your battle scars -
Full-price purchases your bruised old purple hearts.
It’s not the pairs of glasses that you own,
But the times you peer over the lenses that count.