The mighty Chicago Tribune got hit last night.
Well, its newspaper box did,
only one picked from a sidewalk-consuming
row of four corner mainstays
to suffer that indignity of toppling.
I found it this morning, blue-
and-white face down, fifty feet further on, and
eating pushed-up daisies from
the commuter rail's prairie-grass embankment.
It couldn't tell me those dead-man
tales of daily mischief's end, but graffito-
tagged its side did sigh, "Someone
feels my news ain't got the values it used to."
This poem is based on a true story, but I didn't bother to change the name as there is no innocent.
3 comments:
ha!
true!
death is when we are not trusted...
wv: uncurry
LOL!
btw, i recently noticed that your facebook status (on the sidebar)changes... it's nice to come here and read you and check that too... feels as if you are reading your poems for us... as your status somehow shows your mood..
and you tweet too, eh? a very communicative crow!
;)
be!
Yeah, I'm all over the Web. You have to work hard to avoid me :).
Eventually the world may tire of my multifaceted communications.
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