Our yellow and white striped awning
is the only sun on Main Street.
"Make sure you ease it back a couple of turns,"
the installer advised. So I do. The rays
of happiness need some slack. I get it.
Milk crates filled with paperbacks
rest on the stoop, a handmade sign
reads "Give & Take Books." A young
mother and her daughter stopped
yesterday, perused. The mother
held The Velveteen Rabbit
for a few seconds. This morning
the rabbit still supplicates
among the mystery paperbacks.
A local poet's book was stocked
three weeks ago. His first
full-length title. Not one buyer,
but a man with a desire like an arrow
came in to ask about a knot tying book,
and another man with a voice like air
blown into an empty vessel
asked if we were currently hiring.
Each day, a parade of people bob past our windows.
Men whose licenses have been revoked ride bikes
with a case of Keystone Light in the basket.
We're here as the Reference Section,
to remind people that there is sun
so people can point and shout,
"Did you know you can get free books here?"
then turn into the mini-mart lot
and pass the Velveteen Rabbit
to buy their lottery tickets