When my husband opens the door
And there is no newspaper lying on the doormat
He always wants to know why.
Because the boy’s bicycle got punctured
Because the truck overturned
Because it rained and the news is now papier mache
Because the old man next door forgot that only his newspaper is his —
He drools and sneezes so, do you really want it back?
But mostly because I got up early
And brought it in
And read it while the world was yet still and grey
And before he folded it wrong
And made it smell of cigarettes
And generously offered me random pages
Which sets my teeth on edge
And then I saw the time and left it in my cupboard on a pile of shirts
and I ran for the bus and when I get home in the evening and I hear my husband say:
You know that damn newspaper guy is really going to get it this time
I know I will lie shamelessly and say mmmhmmm
And sneak the paper into the bottom of the pile.