When they would tear books up so they wouldn’t be resold by Alan L. Birkelbach

It was always New Year’s of a sort I guess.
That book was last year’s gospel.

You can’t read it anymore.
Here’s a new and different one.

It was like getting dumped in junior high by a girl.
Everything had changed! You leaned blind against the wall.

That night at home there would be mac and cheese like always.
And tea you would need to sweeten yourself.

But all you would really be able to think about
would be the love letters you still meant to send her,

all the love letters from her to you
that you never got to read.

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