Ode to the Sunday Paper

Just in time for the weekend, folks….

Ode to the Sunday Paper

One of my greatest pleasures is
sitting down on Sunday morning
cup of coffee in hand, once
twice, three times refilled
reading through every section of
the newspaper, curiosity landing
on my lap like the blue jay
at the feeder outside my door
fighting off the squirrels

I think of my father, sitting
in his overstuffed recliner with
the Chicago Tribune and Sun-times
stacked up next to him on
the piano bench, a purchasing
agent by trade, he’d start with
the ads, check out the deals,
laugh at the comics and
work his way to politics

The New York Times is
delivered to my doorstep
in a blue plastic sleeve to
protect it from rain water and
other unsavory characters,
layered, complex, and ever
changing, it never disappoints
bores me with its stories or
lets me down with its omissions

This past week, it was
Universal Basic Income
The Mueller Investigation
Renaming the Dinosaurs
Losing My Eyesight
Disappearing Coastlines
Consent for Millennials
Parkland Kids vs. the NRA
and the Breeders new album

Sometimes newsprint gets
on my fingers, but words
unfold and let me inside
never turning away, interrupting
or correcting me needlessly
on the length of my fingernails
or the smudge on the rim of my cup
accidentally missed, because of
my bad eyesight and busy schedule

I should throw it away anyways
because I have too many souvenirs
I’m told, and am too sentimental,
taking too many pictures of things
I love, savoring moments of simple
bliss because they make me feel good
and are worth cherishing like
the Sunday paper, which incidentally
never lets me down…or

chastises me for overdressing because
it has worn the same clothes for three days
straight and feels inadequate as a result,
a personal choice, no fault of my own,
the reminder causing a vase to
fly miraculously across the room
shattering on the wall, perilously close to
where I stand, accompanied by barbs
bouncing rapidly off my chest

like machine gun arrows on armor
asshole, drama queen, sociopath
words typically reserved for dictators
on trial for terrible war crimes
most of the time –  I let it go
people are only human
forgiveness is key
kindness is not weakness and
everyone makes mistakes

Whether it’s a reporter on the beat
or the lover on the run
grace is a white rhinoceros
fighting extinction -whether
sliced, diced or rationalized,
the Sunday paper doesn’t do this
even when it arrives on Saturday night
which is why I’m always glad to see it
and it never lets me down

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Published by Doug Hoekstra

Father, wordsmith, musician, creative.

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