Do You Have Any Idea How Long It Has Been?

I take care of other people's possessions. I understand that when someone leaves something of theirs at your place, that you treat it as though it were your own.

But Jennifer, this book has been so much damn trouble.

I was keeping it away from moisture and silverfish with my other books. But I noticed that he was getting bullied.

What did you do to Whitman that made him so timid? I see nothing of the alleged sweaty-toothed madman. Look at that melancholy gaze. Even Hester Prynne is bossing him around.



The fact that the literature compilation is showing such animosity towards him is ironic considering two of Walt Whitman's poems are contained within him. But I digress, the point is that you obviously coddle your books.

I tried to move him to a different part of the house, maybe he would fit in with a less intimidating selection.


But it was clear that he wasn't happy.

So what to do? I didn't have time to read the entire collection, you know, get to know him better. So I decided to take him out early this morning. Get out of the house. Some fresh air would do him some good. Maybe he would open up to me more.

I decided to take him among the leaves and grass, even though I'm sure the title is an analogy and I'm completely missing the point.

He seemed apathetic at first, but once the sounds of traffic dissipated and was drowned out by birds, the vibe of our party was a decidedly positive one.

As we walked, I spoke loudly:

"...whose happiest days were far away through fields, in woods, on hills,
    he and another wandering hand in hand, they twain apart from other men."

But by the look he gave me, I could tell that he knew I had just Control+Fed the word "woods" on a website full of his poetry.

After a while we sat down to relax, and soak in the morning sun. All the while, discussing poetry, like two great minds should.




"And the way I see it, poems are just songs without the music. So why give credit for half the work?"



"Also, if I like the word usage in fully fleshed-out stories, isn't that also just leaving poetry as part of a whole?"



"An even smaller part when you're talking about E.E. Cummings."



"Anyway.. I guess I just don't understand it, really."




"Hey, do you think stand up comedy can be a sort of poetry? Because I wri--"




"Whitman?"



"WHITMAN?"





I am not saying that I lost Whitman. But I am saying that you should have come over to get your book a long time ago.


"A batter'd, wreck'd old man,
Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home,
Pent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months,
Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken'd and nigh to death,
I take my way along the island's edge,
Venting a heavy heart."