03-22-2013, 07:03 PM
The Morning Paper
There's nothing like the smell of fresh pressed ink;
the crisp release that's hidden in the fold.
“The pope is dead”, “the world is at the brink
of war”, “we won!” , or “China got the gold”.
How did you think a bicycle was sold?
An iPad cannot line your pigeon's cage.
You cannot roll a kindle up and scold
a dog that's grown incontinent with age -
you can put one thousand stories on one page
but how are we to wrap a fresh caught fish?
I'm not some Luddite relic in a rage.
I won't waste morning coffee on a wish
to see my paper pillowed in the clover -
no longer black or white or read all over.
There's nothing like the smell of fresh pressed ink;
the crisp release that's hidden in the fold.
“The pope is dead”, “the world is at the brink
of war”, “we won!” , or “China got the gold”.
How did you think a bicycle was sold?
An iPad cannot line your pigeon's cage.
You cannot roll a kindle up and scold
a dog that's grown incontinent with age -
you can put one thousand stories on one page
but how are we to wrap a fresh caught fish?
I'm not some Luddite relic in a rage.
I won't waste morning coffee on a wish
to see my paper pillowed in the clover -
no longer black or white or read all over.