the words from the page before,
have finally been digested,
learning new phrases,
seeing new things,
don’t read too fast,
you might get the wrong meaning,
swallow words in bite size chunks,
taste the pleasant description,

washed down with Calabrian wine,
hold the book upright,
don’t crease the page,
a torn page creates a tear,
book spine taped over,
the smell of a new book,
or the musty stench of old,
swallowing fear into the next chapter,
seeing how a story is told,
or a fantasy or a horror,
or a film tie in or spoof,
a book lasts longer on your shelf,
and will prop up your roof,
or Famous Five or Stephen King,
or the history of the world,
a dictionary of new ideas,
slowly digested as we get old,
I read in two languages,
I read history and the supernatural,
I love a good old horror story,
as I listen to splatter music,
as your brain swells with joy,
of all these delightful words digested,
time passes away alarmingly,
as in the book you get so interested,
philosophy or natural disasters,
an autobiography of sin,
a story of the best football team in the world,
or how a boy defeats Satan,
the more you read the more you see,
between the lines now more clear,
as you race to the thick end of the plot,
you forgot it was time for a beer,
the book won’t let you leave,
the cover is stuck to your hand,
the book wants you to read some more,
it was not advice but a demand,
as you race to the final chapter,
finally at 2 a.m. you found the ending was naff,
at last you can close the masterpiece,
as the book has its last laugh,

note to self,
must buy another new book later today.

©D.Hobson February 2014