Down in Horizon Books
10th Avenue, Seattle
With an afternoon to kill
I should find somewhere
to sit and read the book
in my shoulder bag
but first why not check
the basement shop
where I like to chat
with the old book dealer
before a good long browse
along his crowded shelves
and temptation mostly
resisted? I need my tiny
pocket flashlight for his
lower shelves, and skip
entirely his upper ones.
No one about but me
and him - he squeezes past
popping out for a smoke
(was that a whisky whiff?)
and squeezes back into
his messy corner, ice-
hockey on his screen
yonder, book info on
his computer. Two coats
on the backrest of his
old swivel chair, top-heavy.
Temptations pile up -
poets, books about poetry.
Crash! - along at his end -
a quiet voice saying Help?
- help me up. The old man
is sprawled on the floor
tangled in his swivel chair,
betrayed by it. To lift him up
would take a stronger man
than me. At least I can
heave the tangling chair
aside. Can we grip each other’s
arms? - not well. He says:
leave me be a while to rest.
I retreat to European history,
peeking at him now and then.
Shall we try now? Not yet.
We have the shop to ourselves.
Settled on just four books, I check
my watch. Better get him up.
His gesture indicates some
stomach muscle weakness.
He’s shifted to a possible
standing effort, and holding
one elbow, one armpit, I
ease him up and help him sit
in that pesky swivel chair.
He asks after my dog.
I help him tote up my
purchase, stow books away.
He says You taught? I
had a young instructor -
she told us she’d just sold
her first story - a hundred dollars! -
to Playboy. They said We won’t
use your first name, just
U. K. LeGuin. You have
a future. Bookseller said:
just now a young man put
a poem in my hand - it’s here
somewhere. But all he could
find was a xerox of his wife’s
handwritten journal - Roma
to Venezia - what they saw,
where they ate, the brusque
waiter, the train fares.
Long ago. The ice hockey
has morphed into some
animated program.
Here’s a poem. It’s good
to write something every day.
He has the musical voice
of a senior whisky-poet
and I’m touched, and leave.
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