T'was the Night Before Deadline

’Twas the night before deadline, and all through The Paper, Not a writer was stirring, not even a caper. The ads were all laid in InDesign with care, In hopes that subscribers soon would be there.

The reporters were nestled, all snug in their chairs, With visions of court cases and county fairs. And Allen the Publisher, with a pizza-stained map, Had just settled in for a pre-press nap.

When out on the street there arose such a clatter, Bill, Editor Emeritus, shouted, “What’s the matter?” Away to the window, Editor Angela flew like a flash, Tripped over Devan’s folders and knocked over the trash.

The moon on the stacks of freshly inked news, Gave a luster to headlines and pressroom reviews. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a beat-up old sled and staff with good cheer.

With Allen at the helm, so lively and witty, I knew in a moment this was The Paper Committee. More rapid than deadlines, his staffers they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

“Now, Bill! Now, Marty! Now, Nina and Lilly! On, Sandra! On, Saydie! Stop being so chilly! To the top of the layout! To the top of the wall! Now dash away, dash away, publish for all!”

As stories that break before readers can fly, When they hit the inked page, they soar to the sky. So up to the presses the staffers they flew, With laptops, cold coffee, and stale pizza, too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the hall, The tapping of keyboards and Paul’s sports call. As I turned to my desk and adjusted my screen, In walked Josh, sports assistant, with stats crisp and clean.

Lisa stood nearby, her camera in tow, “I caught the shot,” she said, her cheeks all aglow. Sandra skimmed copy with her editor’s flair, “A&E’s looking sharp … maybe lighten the mayor”?

Charda typed fast, chasing schools and their buzz, While Saydie dug into the courts just because. Nina, the numbers, sat poised with a glance, “Print ads are covered … we might stand a chance!”

Devan sold space with the charm of a bard, “Full spread for barbecue … I worked them real hard!” Jessica, designing, adjusted the hues, And Lilly just laughed as she tidied the queues.

Then Allen appeared, his face beaming with pride, “We did it again, y’all, together we ride!” He had stains on his shirt from lunch on the go, And coffee-fueled wisdom that readers would know.

His eyes — how they twinkled! His wit — how precise! “This issue’s a banger; it’s worth twice the price!” He spoke not a word but gave us a cheer, “The Paper lives on — Merry Deadline, my dears!”

He sprang to his desk, gave the signal to press, “Let’s print this thing up — our chaos, our mess!” But I heard him exclaim, as the pages took flight, “Support The Paper, y’all, and to Burke a good night!”

Lotta Hooey, who lives only in the AI universe, most probably used AI to compose this poem.