Mudd
Our library is spelled with double Ds;
feel her up, feel her up.
Feel her B cup?
What the fuck?
Mudd, please.
You buried me in lies, library.
Made me think you were greater than you were.
Not that you’re not great as you are,
it’s just hard to look at you the same way again
now that I know what’s within.
Tissues lift you,
push you up.
I’ll still tickle your nipple,
but it’s difficult to be civil.
You’re full of drool and dribble,
you are packed with cramming cats
and Adderall bats.
And as a matter of fact,
you make my bladder whack.
I have to pee as if I don’t want to do my homework,
as if I intentionally took the longest route
to get to the bathroom.
You’re leveled like a stupid square split by a hair
of rainbow couches that used to be there,
and where are they now?
Did you stuff those in your bra too?
I don’t know you anymore.
Sometimes I just want to crawl
into your womb chair and curl into a ball
and share a silly glance with the 180 degrees
of people behind me when I spin in circles
obnoxiously.
And throw up
cautiously
into the potted plant tree next to me.
Jesus.
Cheez-its I’m hungry.
and Azariah’s is probably not even open.
Because it’s never open when I check
and it’s only open when I forget.
I don’t mean any of it.
Yes I do. No!
I don’t know.
Mudd, you’re my muddy buddy
I play with like silly putty
when I’m cruddy at my studies,
get your couches all crumby
with my nummies!
I lift your cushions and
sometimes I find money,
sometimes I find my friends
and it’s funny
cuz none of us are working,
just jerking off our assignment notebooks
lurking wasted pages of Facebook, all hail OC mail,
what’s good, what’s good!?
Mudd, I know it’s 15 minutes til you’re buzzing
to tell me that in 15 minutes you’re closing
to tell me that in 20 minutes from now I’ll be alone
walking cold,
missing you
wishing I was with you,
reaching for your double Ds,
where I know now I can find a tissue.
Mudd, when a book falls off your shelf
and nobody’s around
to hear the decibels of the screaming
Dewey Decimal replaced in a place
slightly questionable,
unimaginable how they fathomed
it went there,
I don’t care.
I just want to tell you and your shelves
you’ve held so well,
Thank you.
You are more than dirt and water to me,
you are where I exert brain power,
wander free, drown in the drinking fountain,
get struck by lightning in a brainstorm,
read til I’m clueless,
my writing efforts fruitless,
so I drink coffee til I’m poopless,
sob on shoulders of unfamiliar students,
freak out at strangers, count to ten,
throw books at freshmen,
scream, “why the hell does Decafé close at 11!?!”
I just need somewhere quiet to eat my pretzels
and read my book.
Sometimes, I get so angry
I could go to the Science Center,
god forbid.
Mudd,
we may be in a very open relationship,
but of all the places I love to pretend to study,
you are my favorite.