"Manners"

Sanctuary
Quieter than the smallest library
In the tiniest village.
Which is where
For poems I pillage.
But you would expect that
At seven PM on a Good Friday
On the fifth floor
Of the Festival Hall
By the River Thames.
There was me
The old man in the stacks
The lady behind the jump...
That was it.
Until...the man in black
Walked in.
I barely noticed him.
Had he come in on a whim?
He wasn't drunk swaying
Or muttering and praying
As far as I could spot.
In fact it was so brief
I didn't even notice
If he was hot.
An insignificance
Compared to the suited & booted
Bloke behind him.
A few brief words
And out he went.
Security.
Then Mr. Officious walked round
Looked at me and frowned
As I was standing reading
Poetry magazines
In the Poetry Library.
Well why else would I be there?
He asked if I was a member.
If I had my wits
I would have responded
" I can't remember"
Instead...
I just told him I was.
He did his patrol
Thinking he was on a roll
I looked him in the eye
And asked him if
It would have mattered
If I was not?
And then he politely
Back-tracked
Knowing for a fact
He'd asked the wrong person
And things could worsen.
So I let him off
Without so much as
An embarrassed cough
Which was a shame
It was all so tame
I couldn't give a shit
If he'd thrown a fit
In fact I'd have positively
Revelled in it.
And  probably written a poem.

Dulwich Poet 29th March 2013

(I returned some books & borrowed some more, from the Poetry Library, which was suprisingly open today, on the Easter Good Friday bank holiday, a security guard kicked a bloke out, who can't have been there for the poetry)