Here’s a breezy, pun-laced poem inspired by Cool Change—a soulful tribute to the slow ritual of the morning paper, with a wink to LRB’s nautical metaphors and a splash of wordplay ridiculous enough to deserve its own horoscope:
“Fold Change”
(to the tune of Cool Change by The Little River Band)
If there’s one thing in my life that’s missin’
It’s the rustle of truth at my door—
That inky old oracle, wrapped in its roll,
Dropped like doctrine on my porch floor.
I’ve been too long ignoring the headlines,
Clickbait’s just not the same.
Now I crave that cool change
Of newsprint’s tactile game.
I’m paper-trained, and proud of it,
A broadsheet bard in the dawn.
Give me columns with margin for error,
And comics to lean upon.
Let the neighbors scroll their phones,
Their thumbs forever trapped—
While I leaf through life, page by page,
In crossword wisdom wrapped.
The weather forecast gives me chills,
Though the font is mostly grey—
A cold front in the metro section,
A high pressure take on yesterday.
Sports bring sore points, stocks bring losses,
But still I read it all—
Even obits whisper to me
Of lives that dared to fall.
So here’s to that carrier, rain or shine,
Who delivers more than news—
A daily dose of folded calm,
My analog morning muse.
Yes, I’m feeling that fold change
As the presses ebb and flow—
Old stories inked in quiet grace,
While the rest just tap and go.