baby in the bookstore

left bank off cuba where earlier as I ran by to

make sunday morning yoga church,

I could smell that the night had been loved too much,

and it had made someone sick.

left bank off cuba, little hideaway that, I can see with

experienced rust-belt eyes,

will someday be an unkempt, falling down, menacing alley

safe only on sunday mornings.

left bank off cuba is the location of my favorite book store

named after my favorite magical creature

Pegasus.

I once believed in unicorns and fairies,

and I will still,

on the right kind of day.

but not even I could believe in anything so fantastic as a winged horse.

inside, the music is always perfect,

although it takes several minutes to fully enter

as the merchandise always spills outside

(and it must be some magic spell that makes everything fit back inside at night).

there are stools and chairs and ladders

everywhere

I love the ladders.

there is some freedom of being closer to the ceiling than the floor while looking

through books.

there are piles and rooms and secretive aisles,

just the right balance of chaos and order

is struck

so my muse can come out of hiding and

sing to me about what to hold and what to fold.

while perusing novels between

poetry sections,

suddenly

there is a young father and his

baby daughter cooing

gurgling

peeping.

they are so in love

as am I........................................

and her sweetness stirs some

softness inside that I just allow to linger.

there are hours until closing, therefore

the distraction is welcome

to come in and have tea with my perfect

afternoon