I found him standing at the twenty-five-cent bin,
Which I browse biweekly for the men
Who read books or looks or who look good
With reading glasses as they glance above the text.
As for myself, I’m looking for a publisher
With good eyes for inspiring poetry, kind eyes
That know the right spot to search
Beneath the cover of a book or blanket
The market with those round orange stickers
Placed just so, discount the indignity
Known by those duped for profit.

I’ve picked up more than one, overlooked
Hundreds standing here, waiting to select
A hardback that will keep my concentration,
Grip me with commitment and hold me till I finish.
I want one that’s reasonably readable, not too thick.
I hate it when halfway through I find I’m bored,
Cast aside what had earlier held my interest.
True, I probably do prefer a slender one,
Just slightly used, where I can scribble in the margins,
Pause when I discover something deep that
Makes me sweat Ex Libra before I fall asleep.