Author: Michael Angelo

The library staff changed
and my heart grew a little colder.

Not bitterly cold—just room temperature water
pooled when crying in the tub for too long.

The library staff changed,
just when I wanted to share a crazy idea:
that maybe my poetry had a place
there among the authors.

I knew a guy, a bigshot library guy—
thought I’d make him my messiah, but
the library staff changed,
and I witnessed an interview.

I could tell from the prospect’s face
that she knew about the change,
and that it was coming again soon,
and that home

was a crazy idea.