Ninety Nine Times

I’m returning the library book
the one I got to impress you
about the gays in the Germany.
You know the one.
I never got to read the whole thing,
but I’ve kept it
to the limit.
It can’t be renewed anymore:
ninety nine times seems to be the max.

It’s not like there’s a chance
I could impress you anyhow
at this point.
It’s obvious by now:
you’re not that easy

and I couldn’t get into it,
that book you loved so.
It was beyond me
what you saw in those stories
so today
I have to go out
in the rain
to take back this text
that did me no good
in getting your attention
or anything else.

I’ll miss the space
it took up on my table
and recognize its absence
by the dust outline left behind.

Maybe
if I talk to the librarian
about the book
I’ll be able to convince her
to let it stay with me
for just a little bit longer.

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