My fingers black and blue,
flipping pages, scanning sections,
trying to hide these…corrections.
Hearting your headlines,
rereading a line, chuckling time,
is flirting with a person’s print a crime?
Your column is bad, bad news,
I’m breaking publication rules
searching for a journalistic muse.
You’ve captioned my mind.
I can be your byline on the side,
put me in your classifieds.
I’ve got some bad, bad news,
I’m a stringer with one ear;
there’s no single copies here.
Flirting with your features,
examining these editorial views.
I’ve got some bad, bad news,
I’m now subscribed to you.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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