after a cartoon by Tom Gauld
is a teensy-weensy bookshop
no wider than its own front door.
Always has a queue of eager readers
entering one at a time. They may feel
themselves too close for comfort.
But find my suggestions
are more than worth the proximity.
Or so I have been told.
It would be impolite to say
otherwise. For this is England,
where all is said and done and dusted.
So few shelves, so many tongues
to hold. Yet each book chosen means
no-one goes empty-handed.
When my time comes, please seal me there
asleep in this uproar of language.
vi. 2025
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