The Weird

Unpleasant smell of old-fashioned ink
From the New Yorker's weird, old-fashioned
Print version fills my nose as I doze,
Face down on the financial page. Lord

Have mercy  on those of us who dream
That what we read is what we will be.
Snob that I am, I try to avoid
Reading at all assiduously,

As if never committing truly
To any one rag or blog at all
Kept me free of any of their dreams
For marrying one reader at all.