NYTs
It’s just paper,
it’s yesterday’s New York Times news.
It’s the kind that’s dreary and mundane:
crushed dreams worse than crushed roses between pages:
stories of hope,
stories to fill the void,
stories of pain.
Papers stacked up high and then higher,
on this coffee table plane
-before me.
I see subtly varying grey hues,
like a boring day of misty, dreary rain.
It’s unread paper so why do I complain?
Maybe it’s the oak tree branch just outside
scratching on my windowpane.
Folded once or twice is usual,
hiding opinions and the news.
I’ve seen it all before
matters inclined to make me yawn
and then instigate a snooze.
Check my cell phone app
-even more news there
-I need less paper then, I guess
-to instigate a nap.
Tie all the paper into a big cube,
with twine, when – oops,
while I’m half dressed
it tumbles down the stairs.
But I don’t care, thumbing the rim of my
Fruit of The Loom underwear.
Then it’s recycling loops,
like the typical news fare.
But I miss the world
while I’m trapped indoors
-a reality unfiltered through paper, and more colorful.
