I'm waiting with great anticipation
for 300 books
to be delivered to my house
by my father and my oldest son
who went to pick them up
from our dearest neighbor
who moved to a city about 5 hours away.
She's read them already, and
has decided to clean house,
and she has excellent taste in most everything,
so I'm very excited about the books!
I can't even imagine
how many books
is going to be,
will it fill my living room?
By the way,
I'm not really trying to write a poem.
I'm just excited
and writing in little bursts.
As of right now,
every single one of those books
is perfect, and I can't wait to read them all.
When I see them,
they might not be quite as perfect anymore.
Maybe I read some already.
Maybe some will be rather dry,
or about topics I'm uninterested in.
Just like a lottery ticket.
Lottery tickets are perfect when they are unscratched,
purely potential, and a dream of what I could do
if the ticket is a winner.
Or just like an unopened gift,
on Christmas eve,
all anticipation and beautiful paper and bows.
Right this minute, I love every single one of those
I'll tell you all about it when they get home tomorrow afternoon.