Poem: Ode to my morning paper

Here’s to you, old friend.
Here’s to our mornings together
	Latte in hand, feet propped, reading.
Here’s to my black-stained hands, my saliva fingers,
	Evidence of our daily love affair.
Here’s to the quick, finite snip of scissors,
	My sad, hopeless attempt to keep you with me a little while longer,
	Or to shyly share you with others.
	You don’t mind, do you?
Here’s to your limp, lifeless form.
	Your words, so timely when I read them, are never timeless
	And they yellow and fade with age.
	Only archives can save you now.
Oh, you.
	You bring life to the dead and left-wing truth to the people.
Biased you!
	I read between your lines.
	I made you.
	I know.
But I don't mind,
	Like it even.
        We look at each other and share knowing smirks.
Here’s to us, good friend,
And our happy future together.

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