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With Kafka.

Kafka would have liked
the way you said that.

You kept his books on
the shelf next to those

of Burroughs and Joyce.
You like the painting on

the book’s paper cover.
Paperbacks are cheap

and soon worn out,
Thornton used to say.

He liked hard covered
books, first editions if

he could afford. He said
Kafka was too morbid

for you. You need a lighter
read, he said, something

that doesn’t mess with
your female head. You

take down the Kafka and
read again where you read

before, the whole drama
unfolding, the printed words

bringing a different world,
and ghostly by the window

with steady stare, Franz Kafka
in silence just sitting there.

poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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