Eating Poetry by Mark Strand
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
.
The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.
.
The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.
.
Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs bum like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.
.
She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.
.
I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
This poem was selected by Rika G. (Reference Librarian)
