Or, My Chinaberry Lament.

Oh, Chinaberry
There was a time when
I could count on enjoying any book
That you recommended between your covers.
I looked forward to your arrival
Every month,
Perusing your pages,
Writing down the many interesting-sounding books.

But, dear, dear Chinaberry,
Something is wrong.
Either my tastes are changing
Or
Your standards are not as high.
Either way,
I just haven’t been as happy with you.

Take, for example,
The Secret of Castle Cant,
by K. P. Bath.
It’s not that it was terrible.
It just wasn’t all that interesting.
Sure, Lucy, though down on her luck
Found pluck
And saved the day.
But I really didn’t care.
Sure, Pauline went from a spoiled brat
To a decent kid.
But I really didn’t care.

And I think
That’s the pitiful thing here.
There was no real reason to care
One way or the other
About anyone in this book.
The conflict was mundane,
And the “bad guy”,
Stereotypical.
And really,
What was the deal
With the chewing gum obsession?

But it wasn’t the
Hilarious Romp
That you said it would be.
It wasn’t Whimsical,
Memorable,
Or even enjoyable.
(Maybe it’s just me
Being cranky.
It’s possible.)

But, Chinaberry,
This isn’t the first time.
There have been others that I’ve
Checked out on
Your recommendation
That have just fallen flat.
And, I have to say, that I’m
Losing faith
In your ability
To recommend books that
I will enjoy.

I don’t know if I will give up
Just yet.
Maybe one more try.
I will look forward to
Your arrival in
My mailbox

And hope.