A motion repeated as he read
seated in the cushioned library chair
getting to his feet
speaking slow in a voice like John Wayne’s
he’d say
“Is that true?”
and chuckle
“Is that true?” he’d sit back down
cross his legs, rise again
“Is that true?” ha ha ha
sometimes adding
“I can’t believe it.”

In his blue jeans and work boots
his Lakers tank top, gray-haired
his accent at odd with Asiatic features
what about this truth
was so difficult to accept
I had to wonder and wait
for more to become clear,
but standing once more
he said or read,
which I do not know,
“New York, Cleveland, Chicago, Detroit,”
and that’s when the librarian came
asked him to keep it to himself
as not to disturb others
now what could possibly be
so impossible to believe
in Janet Evanovich’s Sizzling Sixteen
is forever obscured from me


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