He doesn’t stay late
after school
to hang out
or try to be cool.

Instead, he pushes the pedals
faster than the others.
His heavy bag
pulls him back
and to the right
as he rides
through his route
finishing up
before daylight
descends
and the night sky
beckons him
to peaceful reflections.

Slight streaks of
black ink
stains his hands
and if it rains
the newspapers
are wrapped
in orange
plastic bags.

Newspapers slung
seldom miss
the points
he intends to hit,
merely brush by
the sentinel bushes
that guard his
patron’s porches.