Sunday Evening Post.

There was a time when a paper landed on the doorstep in the evening,
Not just morning;
Over dessert, and not just breakfast;
And there was news you hadn't heard already through blaring lights and screaming video,
And you took it in the way you wanted
Your pace, your place, your paper,
And you folded it and put it down
And it was there when  you got back
Or not;
Or it lined the hamster cage or cat litter or became the bonfire in the backyard where you roasted marshmallows and told old stories.

Tonight it is calm.  Quiet like.
Your arms are wrapped around the four-year-old little girl
And the questions are rattling through your brain:

How you will explain homosexuality
How you will encourage love
How you will be accepting
How you will find them eating healthy...

How...

And you kiss her small forehead (the one covered with purple marker)
And you side-ways smile at your son's hand in the potato chip bag
And how he chose Strawberry Shortcake and seemed embarrassed,
And you allow yourself to simply breathe...
And think of the old paper
Sailing...
Gently falling
Onto the porch-step.