Your Little Book

She’s sitting on her cloud
Reading a book

Wish I had written that book
Wish I WAS that book

She could turn my pages over
Slowly, then fast, getting
Lost in the plot, rifling
Her way to the climax

She could peruse me anytime,
Lift me up, put me down,
And from cover to cover
Read between my lines

She could keep me in her pocket
On her pillow at night
Under her shirt on the subway
On her legs or on her lap

Only she can comprehend me
Many times she’s picked me up
And then carefully bent me back
Without damaging my spine

So here I am again
Your little book

Open at the page
Where you left me


Peter Jukes 2003

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