The Librarian's Sternutation

Among the dusty stacks

the silence was entertained

by a stifled sneeze

that shook the evidence

of writers' obsessions.

Terrified, the young librarian

quickly rose from her search

to race to the front desk

where the Managing Librarian

kept a proper desk

thoroughly clean

except for one project.

An apology meant a demerit

in a neatly kept notebook

that would one day

be a part of the same library.

Instead, the young librarian

queried the presence of the dust

to a face whose mouth descended

below the depth's of Nemo's submarine

and wider than Jonah's whale.

The dust protects every living book

was a perplexing answer.

If we really cared about these books

responded the young librarian

we would remove the oxygen

from this room every night

sealing the library

in a cloud of nitrogen

so these words would never age.

One never lectured the Managing Librarian.

Well,

words only age as the best writers create

replacements

for new thesauri

and readers to find.

Outwitted, the young librarian

returned to the stacks

red-faced and fully aware

why the Managing Librarian

had achieved that position.

It would be years

before the young librarian

would rise to that exalted position

having spent a life in search

of new words

as the dust created a scale

as if the books were pangolins.

The cyberwarriors might never

timesuck the stacks of books preferring

to head away hangry for cakeage

wishing permadeath

for the new Managing Librarian.

At the least, this Managing Librarian

would be ready to downvote

any attack from a young librarian

who adorbs themselves so much

as to humblebrag in defense of cleanliness.

In this new Managing Librarian's time

t'ain't no dumbphone here

especially with an aptronym

like Mr. Manual Booker.

Barry G. Wick