Miss Junior Librarian
she works in the fiction section downstairs,
always in a sweater and a conservative skirt
that hangs just above her foxy knees
and I wonder if I can impress her
when she hears I'm a poet?
and then her fuckhead boyfriend shows up
and he's much better than me
but not her knees,
which keep her upright as
a Dewey Decimal goddess
of my daydreams hidden away
in the stacks where the static electricity
of her woolen pins buzzes me on the fingers.
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