#9: Days of Paper Roses
Do the numbers--dogs don't count--just survives!
Then everything, be as close enough, still,
of this and that, thoughts begin and end, thrives,
truth betold, none were measured boundless will.
There's a bold statement, typed on front pages,
rolled off the presses, just to impress us,
splashed inklings midst papered, of such phrases,
... rolled and impressed, settles the dust--minus.
High-topped towers, the light of day, shadows,
thought-filled days, wages paid by subscribers,
of The Times, Gazettes, or Tribune Heralds,
flighters, fighters, there too were paid--writers.
Dawn paper rolls, notepads ... night closes,
they blossomed they did like rows of roses.
A basket holds the magazines
And catalogues I’m saving,
But when I’m not around, I think
They all start misbehaving.
I could have sworn I left them
In a neat and tidy pile,
But now they’re topsy-turvy,
Which is really not my style.
New Yorkers constitute the bulk;
They take so long to read!
Then More for women over 40 –
Much more, I’ll concede.
The wicker also wields a wad
Of travelogues and such;
Toss in some home décor gazettes
And man, it’s just too much!
I’ve gotta get them straightened out
Or they will slide and fall
And knock down all my newspapers,
Which will not do at all!