Shawn L. Bird

I didn’t mean to do it.

The clerk was trying to teach me to do something for myself

but I had neither time nor inclination.

I just wanted a book, and if the one I had requested from the other campus wasn’t there,

it didn’t matter where it was in the system

or whether it was coming.

Today I could pick it up, not tomorrow or later.

It wasn’t here, so I just wanted to sign out the book in my hand.

When she tried to explain what I should do to trace the path of the missing book

explain the complex library system, invite me to log into a computer off to the side,

I gave her the look.

I didn’t mean to, but I did.

She froze and her sentence stuttered to a halt,

eyes gaping at me.

She passed my book over the scanner, gulping.

I apologized for not being teachable.

I don’t know where I developed the look,

I don’t realize I’m doing it until I see the reaction.

I don’t know what I’m doing precisely

that conveys such intense disinterest and disapproval

but it does.

At least I didn’t have to sit for ten minutes

for a lecture and computer consultation, like she wanted.

Three minutes in the university library was long enough

when I am hobbling with a cane

and irritated with accessibility.