They kept the leaded panes, latches lifted by sepia soldiers in the last refurbishment.
Self service installed. Yellow directories removed.
Eventually the newspapers.
We were all reduced with the opening hours.
This used to be the Parish Rooms for dancing.
No dancing now. Books parcel-taped over; protest shushed.
Deep well drained of water; boarded up,
A small death.
Bitter ashes in the mouth to tell Them: We told you so.
Susan Waters, December 2019
This poem was pasted on the door:
The Republic ofLetters, RIP
An Obituary
They called it apublic library,
Though really it was just this in name:
It was nominal; a semantic entity,
That had lost the meaning of 'library'.
A coup saw off its natural constituency,
And ushered in grazers; so few came, Opportunely, to the rescue like cavalry,
From accountant, jobsworth, functionary;
Dissolution of the Libraries, their game.
As was then inevitable: for shame.
