A Friend In A Used Book Store

By Colorado Poet Robert Cooperman

Narration By Roger Netzer

 

“I hate to tell you,” Marilyn sighs,

“but I found your first chapbook

in a used bookstore.” 

 

I’m ecstatic: someone bought

and maybe even read it.

 

“I hope you didn’t buy it,” I admonish:

I’d given her a copy years ago,

and perhaps a stranger will purchase it now,

and pass it on to a friend, so a third

lover of incredibly great poetry

will read it, and so on and so on, forever;

that, or one of those alleged readers

will find more of my books,

or be the influential critic who’ll proclaim,

 

“Cooperman is a hidden gem of a talent,”

and make my reputation for the ages.

 

The fantasy of every—as a friend calls us—

Small Press All-Star, or in my case,

“Minor League Quasi-Phee-Nom,”

whose collections gather dust and gently

fall apart on used bookstore shelves,

and once in a while get thumbed

and replaced out of alphabetical order.