THE HERALD

.
 When I was a kid,
 I wanted to get away
 from the house, so
 a paper route 
 seemed to be the way.
  
 I took a morning route; a
 get up at 4:45 A.M. route, but
 It got me out, 
 seven days a week, 
 out on my own, 
 plus the collections, 
 that would be worth 
 two or three nights.  
 “Collecting for the Herald!” 
 “Could you come back Friday?” 
  
 So it went for four years.  
 I grew to know people pretty well. 
 I saw contentment, anger, 
 cheerfulness, satisfaction and 
 struggle: with the spouse, 
 with work, with the bottle.  
 I saw:  who was broke, 
 who was broken, 
 who had it, who didn’t.  
  
 I was the gatekeeper, 
 the constant, the dependable.  
 They liked me; my service.  
 There was conversation, 
 caring, and good feelings.  
  
 That was 60 years ago.  
 Now, they are gone or going, 
 the paper is gone, but 
 I’m still here, 
 not wanting to get away.  
  
 My memory carries me.  
 I read their obituaries on-line.  
 There is a plunk at my heartstrings, 
 a pang of sorrow, and 
 a little regret that I had to quit, 
 move on like we all do and 
 that I never went back.  
 This pings the heart, 
 never breaks it. 
  
 Life is that way.  
 It is and then 
 you move on with joy, 
 having learned, 
 never forgetting, 
 but missing that bliss, 
 the euphoria and 
 the excitement of 
 those four long ago years.
  
 Stanislaus Kuperski the Firski
 February 20, 2015 ^