“I really do think,” I muse to myself, wine-sopped
and glowing before my backyard fire pit,
“that there was nothing special in the Library
of Alexandria. Would we mourn the ashes
of a bookmobile? Or someone’s ‘little library’?
Or even the last Blockbuster Video
wherever it may rest?” My wife nods
swiping, I presume, one cat video after another.
“Well, at least my fire pit is powered by
the fruits of Civilization,” I purr at white smoke,
consigning another first edition to the flames.
“Okay, hon,” the better half accedes. “Oh, that’s cute!”
The power of ideas emits an uncommon warmth,
singeing my noise hairs with every bite of my s'mores.
