Another Poem

Poems really do heal. I have another boo-boo, so here goes.

For All Intents and Purposes

I like to sit in the library and contemplate what is there.
Someone has taken time to share their thoughts with me.
Someone has given me a choice to hear them.
They sit and wait for me.
I listen with my eyes, and my own voice is quiet.
I've heard quite enough of the confusion and what I long for is
The intentional hard work of communication.

In the quiet study room is a group of 6 large, fine, club chairs,
Some with ottomans that don't quite match.
I think they go with the solid color chairs,
But the patterns tie them together like the words in the book I'm reading connects me.
There's a sign on the door that says "No Laptops" and another one
That says "Respect other patrons."
All good rules for communication.

So I sit in a chair and contemplate if it matches
The ottoman that I've propped my feet on.
It forces me to look for likeness,
Else I'm the only thing connecting the two unmatched things.
When I leave, there's an opportunity for someone else to be the connection.
Something solid under the feet rests the mind.

It's a good thing to sit here with a book and know that
I'm in a place intended for what I want to do.
I'm surrounded with opportunities of my own choosing
Until a voice intrudes to announce the closing of the library.
It's a recording. It plays and stops. I close my book
And walk out into the night, urged on by the inevitable voice of closing
But rested for a time.