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Steve McCown
Paperboy: Special Edition
It was difficult then,
even on foot, to keep my balance,
the yellow carrying bag,
half my size, bulging with news,
lugged, hoisted, shouldered--
morning papers too thick at the time
to fold neatly into themselves
and to fling from my bike like Frisbees
over fences and flower beds.
I trudged on. The weight of words
lessened somewhat. Each delivery eased
the burden, though not the pain.
Lightly, I laid black headlines
on neighbors’ steps, doormats, porches:
The Cuban Missile Crisis,
Kennedy’s assassination.