In Yuma, Arizona today, I have no idea what might have happened. Once, without going to a library and rummaging through microfiche in the dust laden corner of the second basement, I would never be able to find out. And if I did, I would wonder why there was not some simpler way of finding out. Now I can search the internet and know what did happen and what some think happened. I can find truth and conspiracies involving Yuma. It will take some time, but it can be done with relative ease. The problem is that I couldn’t care less what happened in Yuma today or most any day.
Checking the calendar, I see
that today I must make
a profound decision that will
affect my life for years to come.
I am certain it will not be
a simple decision, important
decisions seldom are, and this
offers multiple but no easy choices.
I have long taken the facile way
around the issue, a straightforward
“same as everyone else does”
approach that has gotten me by.
But it is time for a change, so I
am left with organizing my library
by month and day of birth of author,
year not counting, first name initial,
or, and here is where I am leaning
given my love of the film High
Fidelity, arranging them in
perfect autobiographical order.
Too much of what passes
for literature in these days is really
no more lasting than the evanescent
pixels from which it is created.
Books fade, pages crumble to dust
but that requires the passage of time
that our electronic world avoids
or simply refuses to acknowledge,
for history is something that lives
in storage, perhaps recalled, if still
viable, be very easily forgotten,
and compressed to save space.
Still I have my library of books,
and not once in recent memory
have I had to halt my reading
to recharge the printed pages.