Pages of the books I once read,
Yellow and crumble as I turn them.
They once smelled of inked forests.
Now they rank of mildewed towels
On a dirty basement floor.
Books spill off my bookshelves
Disintegrating as they hit the wood floor.
I pick up my electronic reader,
Push the “on” button, swipe the page,
Read a book on a non-glare screen.
This light, thin, 6-inch by 4-inch
Rechargeable device holds as many
Tons of paperbacks and hardcovered
Worlds that line my four office walls,
And I wonder,
When will the grid go down,
And how many years,
As opposed to decades,
Will the digits
Become outdated ones and zeros,
By our sun?