Poems for our “bureau” reporter in Santa Fe, whose stories I’m always left waiting for when I’m laying out:

Sitting at my desk wondering if you’re still alive unmoved either way.

Four stories at noon two out, two new by midday; none ever find me.

He’s slaving away Interviewing, contacting; AP filed at 5.

A blank page, staring waiting to be filled with news … Angry Birds high score!