Mondays are poetry night at the bookstore. This is something new, a little bit of (probably not quite approved) fun to alleviate the usual excruciating slowness of the last half hour.
I inflicted Ogden Nash on the customers. Nash is fun to read, and "The Grynch" is both particularly fun out loud and not too long. I enjoyed watching the bemused expressions that greeted "I dearly love the three-toed grynch" when I launched into it over the loudspeaker, particularly the woman who looked at me as if I had burst into a particularly florid dialect of pig latin.
My coworkers have more majestic tastes. Todd read Mark Strand's excellent "Eating Poetry" last week, and Mack read a beautiful poem that I can't remember except for the glorious image of gramaphones clustered on a beach.