the last paperboy

printing presses still make newspapers
but they are smaller and thinner-pulped
and the edges of the pages curl up
they seem unnatural

and people in trucks still take bundles of those papers
not in nearly the quantities of yore, mind you
and it’s much more an independently-contracted gig
and the hirees are insomniacs with dependable trans

and thus i the front desk night clerk of an independent living retirement community
greet bob the distributor some time between two and five a.m. and give him the cookies
that i no longer have for dessert of my chef-prepared meal and bob gives me a stack
with a lot of az republic and a few ny times and ws journal and usa today

and i divvy the onionskins into three sectors first fl n and w second n and w and east
and i slip some under doors and put some on ledges
and after sector two i take the aprons out of a second fl dryer
and put them in the activity director’s office

it’s the good part of the paperboy’s job as there are no collections any more no stubs
to be given when the resident coughs up
(i remember calvin the paperboy a soft touch for a quarter dispensed from his change machine)
and climbing the stairs is good exercise and i get to look at the fireside lounge copy before putting it there

but it won’t be many years when there will be no paperboys and i feel like a mutant as it is
i may go nuts soon and buy a stack of soontobegones
stand on a busy corner in a busy city and retroshout
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