In the Library

In sedate green rows

of study tables littered

with readers, writers and voyeurs

he sits with his papers

sorting, scattering, sorting,

scribbling fancies to break the rhythm.

He’s a matter of concern

to those whose work

does not consume them.

Curiosity killed the cat

their faces say

but they’re too keen

to be taught his ways.

The adept sneak tiny peeks,

collate them to build a profile;

others stare at awkward angles,

imploring support in this new sport.

We all like a mystery

but in time books or decency

call off the game.

He rises triumphant,

collects his effects and

departs to a tune

they can’t quite place.