The Paperboy

His name was Marty.
We were in the fifth grade.
He was the newspaper boy where I lived at.
Me and my family lived in a small apartment.
He was the most handsomest paperboy ever!
Well, all but my dad lived there.
I would follow him around while he delivered newspapers.
He’d reach into his newspaper bag,
Slung over his shoulder and across his back,
Raise his arm, pulling it back just the right way,
Turn his wrist just a little and s-ling.
Up to the second floor landing it would fly.
He never missed,
But when he did, I would pick it up for him─
Never telling a soul.
Mom worked at nighttime, sleeping during the day.
One day it was cold outside─
Wet and windy, if I recall.
I brought Marty home,
(Of course, smiling all the way),
Fed him hot chocolate, then
I loaned him my denim jacket to wear.
We were poor, but I didn’t know that then.
That’s how I remember him.
Damp dark hair, those deep brown eyes,
With his big canvas satchel,
In My denim jacket,
Handsome face,
Though, now it could be almost any face.
But it makes me smile to remember the paperboy.