Poem...

A poem I wrote Saturday afternoon, for fun. The correct formatting doesn't show up on here, but oh well.

Dutch
I counted once the
language books
hiding in my home.
Serbo-Croat chatting
with Latin I and II.
The English-French taunting
its two counterpart-textbooks
(they being only level one, and
sadly, badly beaten).
My proud Slovensko-Anglicky slovink
(squat and robust like a banker) next to
One Kyrgyz feeling small and out of place and
One kimchi-dreaming Korean.
Nine ruling Russians watch
From their balconies across my walls,
Being four more than the
Sulky English sitting next to
Three Swahili soldiers.
We won’t count the Bibles,
with their two languages more, and
We’ll overlook the zoo—
(a delightful dictionary of foreign terms).
We won’t even count my dushi Papiamento
in exile far away.
And though I missed a
couple phrasebooks, I’ll
quote the tally now:
That’s twenty-five language books
hiding in my house.
Twenty-five languages! And not
one of them the
first in which I wrote.