In the auditorium of the Long Beach
Public Library, bibliophiles move
their floppy bodies clumsily,
banging against the bins of fiction
which mirrors what they want in life.
From the atrium I watch and fall
in love with their vulnerability,
their black-rimmed glasses and messy
make-ups, their uncertain smiles,
clothes too large, bodies foreign.
They are sad, awkward, anxious,
nervous, enlightened of their dooms.