Theft

Someone stole my New York Times
From right outside my door.
In all the years I’m here
It hasn’t happened once before.

I was away and so the paper
Languished there and waited.
The handyman confirmed it was delivered,
As was slated.

When I got home at 1 P.M.,
The paper wasn’t there.
Whoever lifted it decided
That I wouldn’t care.

But that conclusion was quite wrong –
I care and I was pissed!
I read the paper every day
And one lost would be missed.

That paper had my name on it;
It wasn’t there to steal.
Some people, though, would argue
That it’s not the biggest deal.

But that is where I have to say
I really disagree.
That New York Times was waiting there
For no one else but me.

I have a message for the thief:
Go buy your own damned Times;
And then you’ll never find yourself
Appearing in my rhymes.