Yes this irritates me.

That you told me I cannot
keep the books
I collected

because

I do not have the right card
in the right county
in the right city or
pay the right taxes to
take them with me.

Inside I shook my fists
while telling you quietly,

"I'm going to hold on to them for awhile."

I also held onto your scathing refusal and
dumped it in the trash on my way to an undisturbed place to read
where it turns out, I was disturbed anyway.

Why aren't there any exceptions? She could have offered an exception. I deserve an exceptions on this.

It took a minute or so to tell myself to give it up
and enjoy the time I had.

I landed a tiny window seat where
Billy Collins hypnotized me for some while.

Then I brought them back to you woefully
half-hoping you'd change the policy
half-wondering if I should be the one to make an apology.

You kept the books.

I left the stone arched building and
heat burned Me and My Irritated Entitled Mood

at which point I sat on a black iron bench
and wrote a poem called

When Someone Says I Can't.