Why read?

Why read if you don’t have 
a secret bottom shelf where you 
hide your guilty pleasures when guests arrive? 

Why read if you don’t feel the rush
to write a review
the minute you turn the final page? 

Why read if you don’t count how many 
pages
words
sentences
stanzas
or square meters of text 
you consumed this year? 

Why read a novel 
no one has heard of
when you can 
read a book that could have 
and maybe even should have 
been a TED Talk? 

Why read if you can’t brag about
how quickly you swallow a novel? 
There’s a kid in Lapland,
he reads without blinking 
and you bet he juggles three Rubik’s cubes 
while he’s at it. 

Why read on the bus 
where no one 
appreciates your choice? 

Why not go to a park 
where you can watch people stroll 
while you jump from line to line? 
Just make sure everyone sees the title. 
They print them in letters this
H
U
G
E 
for a reason.

Why read if you don’t have
a quota 
a goal
a competition with twenty friends
a book club
or at least a list? 

Why read anything from the 40s? 
You wouldn’t watch a black-and-white movie.
Or maybe you would. 

Why read on paper 
when your Kindle can hold 
a thousand books? 
Some comedian advised 
not to boff people 
who don’t have books at home. 
Lucky you, with a whole library 
in your backpack. 

Why read the “classics”?
School ruined them, 
and Leo is Gatsby now, 
they even put him on the cover.

Why re-read stuff? 
Not even going to explain this:
you’ve read it already.

Why read if you’re not reading in a robe? 
Anyone can read Bukowski in a T-shirt 
and you’re certainly not anyone.

Why read?
Why read at all?