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Why do Librarians look at you, in that tortured way.
For a book that causes them to wander, or even possibly stray.
It’s so easy to find, pointing, aisle three, then row N.
I fidgeted nervously, following his finger, and thanking him again.
Off I go a wandering, through the many racks and shelves.
Thumbing through those dusty books, in my feverish delves.
Meanwhile, a sad Anorak with curly ginger hair.
His Swiss knife swinging from an eye lit. Just below the tear.
Inquires about Mongolian cooking, early sixteen-hundred?
‘Just thought I’d ask’, he grinned. ‘I only really wondered’.
The Librarian clearly annoyed to the stupid silly question.
‘Follow me’, he said, leaving his desk, his comfy homely bastion.
Then the sound of laughter caught his icy stare.
Pointing to the sign, ‘QUIET PLEASE’. He stopped merriment, right, then and there.
‘You like Mongolian cooking?’ The Librarian asked him dryly.
‘No’, said the Anorak. ‘It started raining, so I just popped in,’ answering rather shyly.
‘Bloody time wasters’, he grumbled, now really in a mood.
Then looking at his watch, muttering, ‘Thank goodness.’ His lunch hour soon, then some food.
Where do they come from? He thought, this illiterate mob.
A fake Mongolian cooking fan, and now some noisy yobs.
All in a Librarian’s day, he smiled, with a satisfied sneer.
Thank god its early closing, and soon I won’t be here.
At last the rabble were leaving. He surveyed their awful mess.
It really didn’t matter. He just couldn’t of cared any less.
Books mixed up, some on the floor. What an untidy lot.
Bring back capital punishment, he pondered. Then they’d could all be hung or shot.
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