Slim in the margins

You’re a thin chap,

Out of necessity,

As if you had another choice,

Portly doesn’t pay in your line of work,

There squished between pages 55 and 56,

You staunchly do your duty,

Guarding my last read place,

Laid aside for the moment,

While I get lost in another world,

And you are inevitably lost to the crumpled bedsheets,

But I always seem to find you again my slim friend,

When the time comes nigh,

And press you back into service,

You never complain nor whine,

Of your wordy confines,

Sometimes I wonder which you prefer,

To be slid into a romance, adventure or horror,

Do you have a favorite? Wishing you were in that somewhere,

Reliving those written words,

In one of your many forms, my loyal keeper of place,

In a pinch, you can be a ribbon, a family photo, an envelope, or even a square of toilet paper to suffice,

Acting as my trusty place keeping device,

Not lacking in personality,

You can be at your finest,

In decorative metal, tassels and beads,

Covered in art or kittens or sayings of wisdom,

A necessary part of a good read,

And when the reading is done,

When your respite is over,

You are slipped gingerly between last read pages,

And pressed,

Back into service.