If on a summer’s day a reader
Walk in: here anyone can enter.
How many places can say that?
Nothing to sell, nothing demanded,
just pause and peace.
A lady sits ready to answer any question.
DVDs line up in a dozen languages,
forms to vote, become a citizen:
civic simplicity, in a soaring public room.
At the tables, the clumps and cliques
of after-school kids with textbooks,
backpacks, laptops, giggles and gasps.
Wifi—free and fast, leading everywhere at once.
But your eyes go there, one spot on the shelf,
to a single spine with a little number,
the book you were meant to read and now,
because this is our city, you’ll hold,
check out, take home, read tonight to the one you love.