These newspaper vending machines are empty,
As a sign of the (NY) times
The (NY) Post print era
The daily news ink on the finger tips

No more vending machines,
Soon to follow the newstands and kiosks will disappear off the urban landscape

No more comparing headlines of the same event,
Whether political, criminal or sporting
No more searching for loose pocket change
Or the smell of freshly printed pulp paper.

We used to make paper kites and hats with the newspaper,
Used it for the bird cage;
The butcher for wrapping meats;
Or applying Vick's Vapor on your chest -
A second unwritten life for the same newspaper.

Who can save the newspaper?
Not the news, much less the internet,
Not the cost or stories of ourselves.

See the print era as it was in the caves,
See the print era as it fades from our urban furniture.