The library bag groans with weighty
expectations -- its cargo
is escape, a heady promise,
thus so many spines on mine
to get me through a week.
My shoulder droops so my mind
can breathe above the doldrums,
shoo away the panting dog days,
and hold at bay incarceration
at least for 13 chapters at a shot.
Words excuse my postponed bedtime --
awake my dreams and wear me out --
make me wonder why classrooms
Suffer desks, chairs, boards
when all they need is ink and dog ears.
Now I'm on the downside of days, with
not enough light to finish the bag.
Yet I bury my nose deeper --
defiant in imagination --
for these days might not come again.