The greatest kick in Flushing
our first year in New York
was my midnight Saturday vigil
for the first truckload of Sunday Times.
Lugging holy writ home was
what came to pass for Church going.
The summer of 72 I went heretical in
picking up the Observer in South Ken, London
across Brompton from Newman's Oratory.
I looked his statue straight in its eyes.
The idea of a university, I lectured him,
is not needing any newspaper, but wanting one.