The orphans gather in a huddle and gasp
at the dreaded discard aisle.
while we sort through the endless
stacks of brown and yellow dusty pages.
Several cradle dead roaches and insect poop.
Some are dedicated to family and friends with
photos inserted or a charming bookmark.
We hunt to find a signed first edition,
or a historic volume of Hawaiiana.
Now and then to discover a lonely dollar
hiding between the often-sticky pages.
We wipe away the grime, mend the tears, and unfold corners,
as we absorb bits and pieces of data,
too fast, too soon.
The orphans are then reasonably priced with a Venus red pencil,
positioned into a cardboard box and sealed with packing tape.
Their characters are further revealed at opposite corners
with bits of orange, yellow, green, brown, blue, or gray
duct tape,
invented by a woman.
The waifs are then packed into boxes, counted, and carted away,
stacked and stored.
Polished and poised, to be embraced, sold, and rediscovered.
When will they speak to us again?
Corney Press 