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The
newspaper man
just came by
I know because I heard
that heavy thud
the
paper makes
when it hits the front lawn
I often wonder about the paper
man
driving in the wee hours of the morning
when it is pitch black
tossing
papers like grenades
onto yards or sidewalks
How does he know
which
houses are subscribers
it is too dark to see
and how does he hit each
house perfectly
without ever slowing down
He hit his targets
one
after another
without benefit of light or beam
What an art form he
has created
as artful as a ballet
his dance is down dark streets
between
cars and around corners
practiced day after day
Until he knows the
routine
without thinking, without hesitation
delivering
a masterful
performance
to an audience that is still asleep.
© d.knape
March 12, 2013
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"Once Upon A Line" - Light verse and poetry by d.knape
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