Paper Round, 1980

That paper-boy
dawn chorus
in half-light
played
shrill here,
again garden-deep

placing me back
on my wobbled bike
sack-shouldered
weighted rub-cuts
of news
which I delivered
in every weather
others’ opinions

as the street lamps
burnt out on time
I diligently posted
rolled folded or flat
subject to slot
delivered without fail
by my Fleet-inked fingers.

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