Today I Killed My Newspaper

Today I killed my newspaper.

It really wasn?t its fault.

It was nothing if not faithful,

Showing up at my doorstep diligently,

Patiently anticipating my footsteps,

Obediently awaiting my grasp,

Revealing its secrets with my sleight of hand.

For decades, its arrival heralded the new day,

A loyal companion for a quiet interlude,

A pleasant tête-à-tête over coffee each morning,

Sharing a chuckle or a tear.

Through tempests, tragedies and travesties,

It was a bedrock, a constant in a fleeting life.

Willing to arrive at a reasonable rate,

And stacking cooperatively for recycling.

But, slowly, my old friend seemed to change.

Its formerly easygoing manner   `

Became increasingly annoying, grating, stress-producing.

Harping and harping on the same themes,

Spouting half-truths, mistruths, non-truths,

Its words stabbing into my core,

Darting into my being,

Jarring my senses.

First, I felt disbelief;

Perhaps it was I who had changed.

My old friend did indeed look the same,

Unassuming and neat, awaiting my nod.

But now what in the past used to be safe sections were off limits,

And even previously amusing columnists and features offered no respite.

I was forced to face the fact that I was living with a stranger,

Possessed with its own strange doctrine,

Saying things I knew couldn?t possibly be true,

Talking about a world that didn?t exist.

I tried to ignore it, hoping things would get better,

That we could return to our old, complacent relationship.

But no;

It was relentless,

Day after day,

Insisting with its delusions, omissions, exaggerations,

Every day more outlandish,

The letters in the headlines blaring larger and larger.

So, today, with great sadness, reluctance and a sense of loss,

 I killed my newspaper.

I had to do it. I had no choice in the matter. One of us had to go.

It really wasn?t its fault, though.

It was only doing its job.

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