The Newspaper Boy

As usual, the newspaper boy arrived before dawn,

threw his things over gates

painted saffron, green and white.

Taking them from stack was easy

for he had arranged them also

into saffron, green and white;

in the beginning he had wondered

why they were particular,

safron news in safron house,

green news for green house.

Street dogs confronted him in packs

wagging their tails in strange joy

or, in utter amazement.

Pedaling on he mused over another matter,

untouched newspapers rolled over by wind

within  impregnable gates

painted saffron, green and white.

Have the dwellers  passed on, he mused,

or suddenly suspected death to lurk

in stuff thrown over stubborn gates

painted saffron, green and white.