yesterday i found myself
in the library's biography section
seeking sanctuary
from another sweltering 100 plus day
the first thing i noticed
was a striking book cover
a simple line drawing it was, with
James Joyce written beneath the
handsome face
then i saw Billie Holiday
looking sophisticated and sure
my eyes continued scanning
before stopping on the words:
The Real Story
and Tiger's sober face
he was followed by Virginia Woolf
and preceded by
Natalie Woods
yesterday in the stacks
i concluded that
i'd rather be battling
the heat and humidity of
eastern Kansas
than the pressure, perfectionism,
and clamor
of fame
being an unknown middle aged
kansas woman
has it's
advantages
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