Poetry!

Dust Jackets



Dust jackets are designed to protect books,

Yet for some reason the touch

Of their textile against my calloused skin

Urges me to recoil

And remove the offending papers

At the detriment of the books I hold so dear.



I find people often remind me of dust jackets.



There is something about them

So demeaning

And disregardable.

It’s easy to recognize the way they rub you wrong,

Irritating your skin and bones.



What is the most irksome

Is the fact that I know people aren’t horrible.

Dust jackets protect books

The same way a person’s personality protects themself.

While I find those personalities to be

A small piece of Hell,

The person behind them

I find I hold dear.



So while a dust jacket may be something easily removed,

Discarded,

I can’t say the same of people.



You can’t rip the life out of someone the same way

You might unfold a book from its covers

Despite the fact that you may spend years

Attempting the feat.



So my shelves remain half-covered

With half the books covered

And the other half exposed

To my life

And to dust.



And my phone remains half-filled

With numbers who haven’t called

And texts that are unanswered

As the people I love

Age and die

And turn to dust.