A Story In Print Poem by sylvia spencer

Out on sale at the crack of dawn, then I am chucked in
someone's yard or on the front lawn.
Yes I am the newspaper the one with the headline news
but most of the time I am just full up with self pity blues.
The world is in a crises and there is no food for people to eat.
Then you turn over and gangs are fighting in the street.
Drink, drugs and teenage thugs all ruining their lives, what stupid
mugs. Shares and morgages all up and down, and there is always
an MP doing their best for their side of town.
Sometimes I wonder why I was invented, because my brain can
be so tormented. Only there is so much rubbish they cram into my
pages, that is why I am printed in very small stages.
Then on goes the sports page, lacking or making
football glory then money speaks well that's another
premiership story. Horse racing scams and football fiddles,
not to forget the crosswords or word search riddles
I have now been read from front to back and what you now view
are fingers that are black, and I get dumped in the recycling sack.
Or I could be used to wrapp china or glass,
or I may come back in fashion, because once I was used to
'wipe your arse!