All the News

Everything that is news
Fits into a stream of bits
read into my eyes
And blown into my ears.

Even you are news to me,
A kind of bland, pasty announcement
On a slow moving day
That includes only a moment
Or two of interest to me

Followed by a blank look
as I hear the elevator bell ring
And wonder who is coming
Down the aisle now.

Now, that is news!
Who could it be?
Someone without news
Who quietly slides behind a desk.

My eyes turn back to you
And realize that another bit
Of your life may be of consequence to me,
if I listen carefully.

But, I cannot,
And return to a chair that swivels
And a desk with papers
And news on the phone
Left by people who could not wait
And news delivered on paper
And news on a computer screen,
None of which seems to be
News to me.

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