Yesterday’s abandoned newspaper,
Flitting among these slushy, snowy streets,
Your destiny was writ
Long before journalists etched headlines
Into the surface of your skin.
Though, the stories you may possess
That are invisible to the naked eye!
You provided the homeless shelter,
Supplying heat in New York’s blustery December nights.
You gave your limbs for kindling,
Allowing the couple by the trashbins To desperately warm their frigid, shivering hands;
You yellowed and rotted,
Forgotten in a nearby ally
And laid deserted in a nearby bush,
While twigs and branches ripped your very soul apart.
Your history is vast, your past exploding with untold adventures;
Yet you lie there, alone, For how absurd it is to sit and contemplate
Something as insubstantial and inconsequential
as “yesterday’s news.”

12/30/2010

Posted on 12/30/2010
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