The times they are a changen

Some things never change in Ireland. Like, for example my fathers' love for the newspaper. He frequently sleeps with it on the couch. There it lies crumpled all over like a blanket keeping him warm and informed. He'll cozy up to the small print or the situations vacant on the back page. He might snore through the Israeli conflict, maybe change position on the rugby page. His mouth will droop on the editorial page. His nose can drip a little on the weather page. He might wake up to a letter.