November 8, 2019
Photo by Linda Simon

A Poem by Mark S. Peel

Why is it that the last place you can’t get any two things right is a place where there are only things black and white? I don’t mean to complain without just cause; I seek no lofty goals. I just want one good matching pair with a minimum of holes. I care not that the left get paired with the left, the right with the right or that they match my pants in a most offending sight; that there are any two not worn thin in the toes and bald in the heels, each standing ready to show me just how real leather feels. No, all I hope or want is to find any two that simply match, and not despair with each new wash and its confusing batch. It’s not one of life’s big issues or problems without repair that happens to be the next drawer down in my underwear.

To submit your own photo or poem, email Assistant Library Director Brittany Taylor at