Book on Charity Shelf
I shopped yesterday at my local Tesco's
Bulky cupboard back-ups
Because I had a lift home.
I left the guys to pack
Cans and cartons and bottles
Because they are particular
If not downright anal.
I sauntered on ahead
With my daffodil stems
And a pot of coriander
Not to be trusted to 'the men'.
I pass the shelf of 'charity books' regularly
And I no longer stop every time.
But yesterday -
My eyes slid sideways.
My foot raised to step forwards -
And came down on the same square centimetre.
I was rooted.
The book was smallish – in pristine condition
Its hard cover embossed with ripe oranges on their boughs
And bright red binding up the spine with golden letters:
A classy little edition.
I didn't even investigate further.
The cover, the colour, the feel of it in my hand
And the weird word were enough.
So I fished out fifty pence for the slotted box.
'What have you got?'
'No idea. But it looks interesting.'
'Fair enough,' And the guys bolted for the lift.
I hurried, because they were helping me, after all.
But I was really on automatic control.
'Foyle's Philavery: a study of unusual words'.
Oh, no. OH, NO!
And I thought, as we clanged up the lift
'An exclamation mark -
This book is my exclamation mark
For March, 2018.'
It's at my bedside, waiting.
Hilarious to be so hooked!
By a book!