Reading

You surface from reading a book

And half the day is gone

Blear eyed, sofa sodden

Can you remember even half

Of what you avidly poured

Into a soul thirsty for distraction,

And for information that ‘might be useful’- 

‘marriage and work are the great bulwarks against crime’,

‘heroin is mainly smoked these days 

owing to its increased purity.’ 

(these two from a cop memoir) 

And like heroin

I’ve been doing that almost all my life

And no doubt I’ve found a use for some of it

Usually as fillers for otherwise dull conversations

Filleting out the good bits for later

Standing around and prating about

The secrets of this and that

It annoys some and pleases others

Probably I’m neither ahead or behind

From this lifelong tic

Should I give up the reading?

The random book habit I seem stuck with?

It won’t go now, five decades on and into the sixth,

As I celebrate the odd fact, 

Or better, the odd insight,

That lets you know you know,

And that you can rest easy now,

Go back to the sofa library

With a well earned cup of tea,

And a well thumbed book,

And out the window trees bending and arc-ing

In the wind, the summer storms again,

How many messages from this cycle of life

The same pattern growing stronger 

Year by year, how many messages

Will I ignore?