I know that you don't really need a book anymore,
that the world has moved on
but this ominous future of these digital books
seems to have infiltrated the present.
So much for telling me.
So much for the wonderful sentiment of a book.
So much for the feel and the smell of the pages.
I don't need to tell you how magical that is.
Just look at how the lexicon develops and changes overnight.
My beautiful book becomes an antique.
At least the alphabet stays the same. Just about.
But I can't understand half of what is said these days;
it's all acronyms and abbreviations and made up words.
I guess that's kids for you,
that love of risks and doing what you want because you've only got one chance at life.
So with the unsympathetic husband
and the daughter too young to help,
I made my search for the book.
The loft proved unsafe and fruitless.
It might have been full of the past but not the right stuff.
I tried my room, otherwise full of books,
so full that it's almost a struggle to get in,
but not the one that I sought.
I checked the bathroom, only a discarded newspaper there:
how strange, we didn't normally buy them anymore.
The kitchen had recipe cards
and my terrible scribbled notes on the fridge.
The dining room had nothing.
The lounge had information on the television screen
and flashy magazines about homes and gardens
and my husband's game consoles with all of his silly games.
There was little in the hall-
just some littered post about some upcoming event. I didn't read it, I threw it.
Hours passed and were wasted in a profitless challenge.
I surfed the web for another version of the book
on the off chance that I could purchase a replacement for my missing one.
Apparently it had been animated into a kid's Christmas spectacular.
I ordered the DVD and smiled.
Then remembered my problem.