With apologies to Kipling, and to all the guys in our profession.

If--

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are away on break and the place is packed;
If you can keep abreast of the lists of overdue
And get hold of IT when the internet’s cracked;
If you can order on time all the top-selling authors,
Yet find some money for well-written stuff;
And stay well-stocked with what the public calls for,
Yet keep the collection from being total fluff:

If you can make the Staff follow reasonable rules,
And stay off Facebook when you’re not around;
Remind them that telephones are business tools,
And books carelessly shelved just can’t be found;
If you can squeeze some Budget from your Board
To hire real workers and not volunteer freaks;
Get the Powers-That-Be to dip into their hoard,
To contact a plumber and stop those leaks:

If you can lure in the Teens to do some real reading,
Not Game-Boys and videos and Gossip-Girl junk;
Have story-time without all your older folks bleating
About unruly children with way too much spunk;
If you can keep a mile-long To-Do List at bay,
And stay graceful when some clueless churl
Cracks wise about getting to read books all day—
Then you’ve become a real Librarian, my girl!

NOT an actual dream I've had, but it could happen if one isn't careful.

Paper Dreams

I met lots of guys with enormous eyes,
So unnatural they brought on a chill;
But what gave me a whirl was meeting the girls
Whose eyes were bigger still.

The people there had weird-colored hair,
And some were remarkably slim;
And endlessly mauled in continual brawls
Begun on the slightest whim.

I saw tiny cats, and rooms of straw mats,
And swords that looked like they’d hurt;
Broad comedy scenes, and lots of teens
Wearing hazardously short skirts.

It was only a joke, for I finally awoke
Feeling just a little bit shook;
And recalled I’d read, before going to bed,
A “How to Draw Manga” book.

Inspired by a comment somebody made to me earlier this year.

Innocent Eyes

“You have innocent eyes,”
A woman I’d never met once told me.
They’re blue, like a baby’s, and babies are said
To be innocent; I suppose that’s what she meant.
Still a strange thing to say of eyes,
However babyish, set in a middle-aged face.

They say such nice things about me;
Say that I’m a “Doll” and a “Sweetheart;”
With such soft, gentle eyes that serve
As windows to a heart of gold within.
If that’s what my eyes say to other people,
Then I can only say that they are shameless liars.

They’re as innocent as those Bette Davis eyes;
I know all too well what really lies behind them—
What petty angers, and selfish preoccupations;
What lusts and harsh snap-judgements;
What shocking secrets I’ve kept hidden,
What a clever blue-eyed imposter I am!

There has only ever been one true innocent
Born of woman, who lived two millennia ago;
Only one who led a truly blameless life,
And got nailed to a tree for his trouble;
And being truly innocent, forgave those of us
Who did it, if we would only admit our guilt.

Long ago I did, and asked him to forgive me,
And he did, and told me to follow him.
I’ve been trying ever since, and through hard work,
And the help of those bits of blue pigmentation,
Have got many thinking that I’m better than
I really am. I wish so much that I was!

But I know that any admirers are mistaken,
That even my detractors grant too much credit;
And live with the frustration of knowing
What I really am, an actor on the stage of life,
Waiting for the day when I can finally go home,
And he whom I follow will make me fully innocent.

I love this! It's almost like a cross between an extended Limerick and a Dr. Seuss story.

Thanks!

A library colleague of mine who's read this and the "If" poem liked them. Most Young Adult librarians can identify with the second one; just about EVERY librarian can identify with the first.