the paper route

when delivering papers
before the sun
came up
I would run with my
wagon.
dog beside me.
each paper folded
into a baton,
for easy throwing.
with a gentle toss
I'd watch the papers
land on porches
or sidewalks
of the addresses
I knew.
my hands would be black
with the soft
ink of that days news.
not a soul
out.
just the yellow
white lights
from a room here and there
along
the streets
of early risers.
the lingering stars
above me.