Bad News

The front page,
special edition,
ex-tray ex-tray read all about it
Sunday paper blows down city streets,
pummeled by merciless windy fists.

Car tires make a blind perusal,
breaking its spine
again and again.
It ducks and weaves like a boxer,
wobbles and weaves like a drunk,
ends up in a puddle of grease
and muddy water,
halfway soaked through.

The front page,
special edition Sunday paper
looks into the hearts
of passersby,
x-ray x-ray read all about it,
reading inner thoughts,
secret thoughts,
nasty thoughts.

Newsprint passes
silent judgment,
adding its own breaking news
commentary with its last
two unsullied words:
Violence Continues.
The rest is obscured.