It was clear

It was clear

The bookend needed to talk

He looked out from the shelf

It was warm

There was sweat on his forehead

From the effort

Of holding up his end

I want to tell you something

He said

I’m only a piece of wood

I’ve never been used

As a metaphor, before

But I have been doing this job

For a long time

Since me and my girl

That’s her, Shirl

Propping up the books

On the other side,

Since we stood

Together, back to back

Before the first book came

Good times they were

We touched each other

All over

Laughed and joked

She tickled my back

I scratched hers

Ever so gentle she was

We have to shout now

So many books

Have come between us

But we keep pushing together

Leaning she calls it

Mutual leaning

Without it

Everything would collapse

And then where would we all be

The end of alphabetical order

Anarchy on the top shelf

Zen and the art

Of motorcycle maintenance

Scattered, in pieces

On the floor

Bookends need books

You tell me son

What else are we good for