A little funny feeling, that rolls along my spine

starts as I enter the cool, crowded interior

I begin to salivate, thoughts of composure gone

childlike, I race to my intended target eagely.

I would work for free in this place of print and paper

without thought of anything but the joy of the smell.

That pulpy, fresh wondrous scent, delights;

I ignore the e-readers with an abject distain.

The heft of the book thrills me; a passionate embrace

incapable of coming from a slim, light digital reader.

It’s like dehydrated food, the nourishment is there

but none of the nuiances, none of the texture.

The salesman eyes me suspiciously; cavorting

in the aisle with a new copy of Elements of Style

and a shiny new dictionary and thesaurus clasped;

convinced I am a crazy person, or worse, a writer.

I drool over a new edition of Quoteable Quotes

and continue my exploration of the store;

Alan Quartermaine in search of the Lion

my target, prey, hiding in the hedgerow.

Finally, I discover it’s lair and dig in with glee;

the pages parting like a willing woman

and I bury my nose into the volume in question

lapping at the knowledge contained therein.

I leave the store, eighty dollars poorer

but rich in the knowledge that I have triumphed

as I carry my bag of words and thoughts

back to my cave and begin to read.

I love Tom Clancy.