In the Library


In sedate green rows
of study tables littered
with readers, writers and voyeurs
he sits with his papers
sorting, scattering, sorting,
scribbling fancies to break the rhythm.

 He's a matter of concern 
to those whose work
does not consume them.
Curiosity killed the cat
their faces say
but they're too keen
to be taught his ways.

 The adept sneak tiny peeks,
collate them to build a profile;
others stare at awkward angles,
imploring support in this new sport.

 We all like a mystery
but in time books or decency
call off the game.
He rises triumphant,
collects his effects and
departs to a tune
they can't quite place.

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