Why read?

Why read if you don’t have

a secret bottom shelf where you

hide your guilty pleasures when guests arrive?

Why read if you don’t feel the rush

to write a review

the minute you turn the final page?

Why read if you don’t count how many

pages

words

sentences

stanzas

or square meters of text

you consumed this year?

Why read a novel

no one has heard of

when you can

read a book that could have

and maybe even should have

been a TED Talk?

Why read if you can’t brag about

how quickly you swallow a novel?

There’s a kid in Lapland,

he reads without blinking

and you bet he juggles three Rubik’s cubes

while he’s at it.

Why read on the bus

where no one

appreciates your choice?

Why not go to a park

where you can watch people stroll

while you jump from line to line?

Just make sure everyone sees the title.

They print them in letters this

H

U

G

E

for a reason.

Why read if you don’t have

a quota

a goal

a competition with twenty friends

a book club

or at least a list?

Why read anything from the 40s?

You wouldn’t watch a black-and-white movie.

Or maybe you would.

Why read on paper

when your Kindle can hold

a thousand books?

Some comedian advised

not to boff people

who don’t have books at home.

Lucky you, with a whole library

in your backpack.

Why read the “classics”?

School ruined them,

and Leo is Gatsby now,

they even put him on the cover.

Why re-read stuff?

Not even going to explain this:

you’ve read it already.

Why read if you’re not reading in a robe?

Anyone can read Bukowski in a T-shirt

and you’re certainly not anyone.

Why read?

Why read at all?