During her final year of college
The nursing student takes a break
And indulges herself in another life.
She opens up a familiar bookmark
Of a library science program
For which she has the grades,
Could easily get the test scores,
Be a blink to complete the essays,
And imagines finally hitting “apply.”
She closes her eyes
And enters her future workspace
Not the thin veil of antiseptics
But the rich aroma of books, new and old.
The same smell that clings to her apartment now.
In this place, she does not dole out pills
But lands new and fantasized,
Manuals to repair and refurbish life
That does not end with crushing debt.
She battles patrons, not patients,
More vigorous, but no less passionate
In their hatred and love for her.
For she is the repository of truth,
A boon for future generations,
A menace to children.
The fantasy ends,
And the student goes to another bookmark.
One that shows the reality that
Librarians make on average
Almost half as much as nurses.
The student wrinkles her nose
And dismisses the tab gently, but firmly.
She wants something with
More job security anyway.
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