1962 was 12

don_socalApril 6, 2011

Winter paper

The baker makes donuts

in the warmth of the shop

the boys fold their papers

on the stairs at the top

The snow piles up

at four A.M.

eighty papers to fold

and deliver again

All is quiet

the snow is deep

the town is snuggled

up sound asleep

Open the storm door

put the news inside

not like summer

with a bike to ride

Hard to peddle in

four layers of clothes

two hoods on the head

to scarves on the nose

The ice on those scarves

from the breath out and in

hardens and stifens

a mask hard as tin

Back home breakfast waits

as they wake to the news

over coffee, bacon, toast

and eggs by twos


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What a wonderful picture this paints! Thank you for a great start to my day.

    Bookmark   April 6, 2011 at 5:31AM
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Don, what a great poem, a so-true story---
a full bubble of LIFE!!!!!
That was no small job at that time of morning, that time of year......

I hope you just keep right on sharing and writing----it is your most wonderful gift. Well, that, and being able to still climb trees!

I'm so proud of you.

    Bookmark   April 6, 2011 at 8:00AM
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What a wonderful gift you have. I hope you don't mind if I share your poem with my husband who was a paperboy for 8 years in Massachusetts winters. You tell it so much better than he can. Thank you.

    Bookmark   April 6, 2011 at 8:39AM
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Another good poem/tale, you pint such a good word-picture, Don

    Bookmark   April 6, 2011 at 10:11AM
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Don, your poem brings back lots of memories; my son was a neighborhood paper boy in 1970 when he was 15. When, for whatever reason, a paper wasn't delivered, he was called at home, and usually, I ended up taking him to deliver one!

Until I remembered that he had been a paper boy, I usually associated them with the WW2 years. Today, our morning paper is thrown out of a car window into our driveway. It is in a plastic bag, though.

I wonder if many young men of today would be willing to deliver papers--especially in the cold and dark! If I'm doing an injustice to anyone's grandson, I apologize.

    Bookmark   April 6, 2011 at 3:29PM
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Don, well done. Your Pisces is showing. Nicley captured and conveyed. Delicious imagery.

It's not the sons I wonder about m! I'm sure my son would do it (and many other kids) in a heartbeat. It's him being alone and riding so early by himself that worries me; such an easy target. Isn't that sad? I remember being so much younger than he and staying out until dark and never checked in. Didn't have a cell phone either. Sad world we live in. It's changed for the worse in some ways.

    Bookmark   April 6, 2011 at 4:46PM
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I sure enjoyed your poem. You have a nice way to describe everyday life. Looking forward to more of your work.

    Bookmark   April 6, 2011 at 8:00PM
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Rob, you're right! It's truly a different world that we live in, today.

    Bookmark   April 6, 2011 at 8:29PM
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Thanks for the kudos, glad I could brighten your day.

Three and a half years delivering the Des Moines Register till we moved to California in '64. One morning I looked at the window thermometer at one of the houses and it said -40 degrees. The yellow bag would get lighter with each delivery.

The kids today should have the opportunity to do something that would give them a feeling of accomplishment and inclusion in society at least in a small way. Guess that is thinking that originates in small towns. Rob, you are right it is not as safe out there as it was then. Wish I still had the light blue Schwinn cruiser, double forks with springs, a horn in the tin between the brace bars and a light on the handle bars.

This is when I was 13 and broke my leg jumping over a front porch step while collecting for the route. My brother Steve and our dog Skipper are the other two. My two older sisters did my route for me till the cast came off. One of them found a boy friend that delivered the route next to mine. They also broke my perfect record twice and had to take the papers to the ones they missed.

    Bookmark   April 6, 2011 at 9:21PM
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The closest we get to community involvement here is, our community center gets cleaned by the kids right before baseball season. Loads of bending and lifting, raking and digging. The kiddos also tend to treat the park well all season long too, using the trashcans in the dugouts. I assume that's from having them clean it up makes them appreciate the way it looks and they want to keep it that way. The kids at church also help the elderly with their yardwark. That's 'bout it. I do wish he and I were physically involved with Habitat for Humanity stuff, but I bet they wouldn't let him considering the equipment and "danger" at a job site. When you remodel or build there are quite a few nails, glass, and wood pieces with which to hurt yourself, 'specially less coordinated hands and feet. Bless the baby's hearts. I know he'd love it :/

    Bookmark   April 7, 2011 at 8:51AM
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petaloid(SoCal 10a/24)

Looks like we're about the same age. I love your poem, and the photo too!

    Bookmark   April 10, 2011 at 1:05PM
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