A woman reading across the room,
and her soft arc of hmmm at words eliciting her song,
calls forth the bigger music of the library-
four blocks away, a sacred monolith of imagination.
“Libraries for All” declares a sign on the wall.
Yes, except for the drunks,
spoke a woman at the counter-
the police were just here.
I’m sure you see it all, I responded,
libraries are havens for the homeless.
Warm. Dry. Open, lit, and cushioned.
Rest your weary bones. Pick up a book,
a newspaper, an image-heavy magazine.
This roof shelters whoever enters.
With or without the fortune or choice
of a place called home,
just best not to betray how many pints
are helping get you through the grey day.