Newsmen Cannot Cry
Newsmen who cry are more
Of a let-down, than of
Presidents or movie stars,
Because all are real people
Outside, besides--
Newsmen were born in faint
Pinstripe or navy blue, lapels
Empty, eyes brushing downwards,
Born with age and rough voices,
Rough and journalists always-
The world has shifted on
One floundering side when a
Born-aged newsman
Just-sobs and suddenly a chasm of
Humanity reopens reminding-
All of us wear something, pinned-twisted
To an even metaphorical lapel--
And what is all this
But a metaphor--only
Diluted, and therefore-
Newsmen cry when children are born and
When old dogs die, or death
In itself, makes the veteran, rough-eyed suit-wearing
Journalist hum to himself...
Faltering still,
Crying softly behind darkened desks, succinctly-
Written scripts...step back and step up once more
To a man in a blue suit and pinned tie,
Who reports blandly
With read eyes-
The newsman's hands shake
As he reads a reported list of figures or scores
-Depending on which side takes the believers-
Humming a song that has abruptly become
A lie