Boreegard's Poetic Message to His Wife

Boreegard sent me this fabulous new poem recently. I thought I would share it with the entire WCA.

Biblio Cabin Fever

Note to wife

It may make no particular sense to you,
Nor is it necessarily meant to—
The order in which I have placed my books on the
Shelves of the library.

I have put them in an intentional sequence,
So that when I want to lay my hands on, say,
The second volume of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall,
Or Shirer’s Rise and Fall, I can do so almost blindfolded.

When the fancy strikes me, I should be able to
Pluck forth in two seconds time, Huck Finn,
(Middle top shelf—third book from the right),
Or Sherlock Holmes chasing the red-eyed hound,
(Bottom shelf—next to all the yearbooks).

In Praise of Trout—and Also me by Paul O’Neil,
With scraps included by his son,
Should fly to my hand,
Like iron filings to an electro magnet.

I can only guess that your unexpected reshufflings
Of the biblioteca are prompted by the same genes,
That require you to move furniture from time to time,
And to have perfectly adequate and innocent,
Rugs and wall coverings divested and replaced utterly.

And while your reordering of my collection,
Surely makes sense to you, (I note that color Schemes
Of dustcovers are often important), It makes my life,
More uncomfortable by far. Where is the Leo Damore book?

The books themselves complain to me. Brer Rabbit is
Unhappy being re-positioned next to Moby Dick,
And Doctor Hunter S. Thompson is speechless, wondering
Why he is now next to John Wilkes Booth (though God knows,
They both had a penchant for drama and fire arms).

In a word, love, and please don’t take this the wrong way,
I would be infinitely obliged if you would leave my books alone.

Boreegard—February 12, 2010