In Memoriam: This is the second in a series honoring the soon-to-be defunct Borders bookstore. I wrote this poem a few years ago in the Brentwood (Tenn.) Borders cafe.
"We have a no-snoring
policy," she assured me
from behind the counter.
The large man in the
true blue sweat suit and
camouflaged vest had been
disturbing my reading for
10 minutes and counting.
The deep, nasal vacuum
vortex sounded more like
an industrial machine
than a man. The barista
called for the manager
as I angrily took out
my notebook to write.
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
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