Sunday Morning

The Sunday morning paper
was lying on the lawn.
Our paperboy begins his run
right at the crack of dawn.

I tiptoed out to get it.
The grass was wet with dew.
I’ll bet the neighbors watched this act
and had a laugh or two.

That paper was quite hefty
with all the news that’s fit.
It takes a smarter man than I
to make much sense of it.

The headlines are in bold type,
the rest in smaller print.
Without my glasses on my nose
sometimes I have to squint.

I scanned most of the paper;
just gave it a quick look.
To read it all would take more time
than if you read a book.

I finally found my target,
the page I like the best.
That crossword puzzle was the prize;
I jettisoned the rest.

I grabbed my cup of coffee
and found a ballpoint pen,
then closed the door of the small room
that we still call our den.

The family was still sleeping.
This was my time alone.
No hurry to get dressed for work,
no ringing telephone.

This is my weekly habit
that I look forward to.
Right then there is no other task
that I would rather do.

My wife will ask me later
how everything turned out.
I always grin and tell her, “Great!”
She looks at me with doubt.

In fact, I’ve never finished.
I never have done well.
But I just lie and say, “It’s done.”
… I know – I’ll go to hell.