Books

by Angela Prew

I enjoy books,
collect them
as children collect stamps
or shells or birds’eggs.
The smell of print
on paper
brings exquisite pleasure
as the smell of
cooking twitches
the noses of the hungry.
Opening the first page
of a new book, a little
stiff, the covers creaking,
the contents unknown to me,
is an exploration
of a new world.

But now, the technophiles,
always inventing, exploring
their cyber worlds,
have created handy machines
to replace books, making them
anachronisms.
How, I ask, can the
the excitement, the feel
of a book give way
to a Kindle?
And what about the bookcases
stuffed with books, two deep
which furnish, add depth
and interest to our houses?
Must we have Kindle-holders
instead?

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