The New Yorker

The New Yorker is having a birthday –

It’s made it to one hundred years.

With each story, cartoon, poem or essay,

It’s jump-started many careers.

 

Despite what it’s called, you can buy it

At newsstands or else go on line

And subscribe – since my brother did try it,

He gets his in the mail before mine!

 

Colorado is where he is living;

We both read it and then we discuss

All the articles that it keeps giving

To curious people like us.

 

I have some complaints – sometimes writing

Prattles on many pages too long

And most poems, instead of delighting,

Make no sense and I don’t think I’m wrong.

 

Yet I’m happy for every arrival,

With a crossword to tackle, as well,

And I hope its continued survival

Will outlast those whom truth would dispel.