If…

If…

If you can keep your place when all around you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on viruses,
If you can be trusted to be taken to the beach
And have sand and ice cream thrown at you
And still be dusted down and lose nothing,
If you can wait months for me to pick you up
And not be tired by waiting,
If you can be sat on, and not care
And prop up a wobbly table for a while
If you can become a ramp for a lego car
And get bent a little, and concern me not,
If you can have coffee spilled all over you
And be dropped to the floor as I drop off asleep
And leave me unworried
If you can be thrown into a bag
And have stuff piled on you,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you
If you can be lent out without concern
And shared, and marked up in pen
If you can do all this, for decades
Without needing even a glance at a power socket
Then finally, you’ll be a book, dear Kindle.

KB 27/10/10

With thanks to Kipling, and Nicolas Carr in The Shallows.