I’m driving out of town and the radio
starts going fuzzy. At first the words
and measures are softened, but then
they begin to drown in droning chaos.
I change the channel and clear the air.
But the buzz creeps back, faster now,
filling my head, even at rest stops there is
no respite from the constant orange noise.
It feels like a bomb has gone off and filled
the airwaves. An invasion of a thousand people
inside my head shouting GOOD! and EVIL!
even when the car is quiet.
I thought I would know better by now, after all these years.
I should know when to tune out, to jump out of the car
and run through the dark green woods until I become
human again before turning that machine back on.
But I don’t. It demands
my attention and I give it.
I’m not adapted to living
through the making of history.
And I suppose I am grateful to know
that the noise has not yet made me deaf.
That I have not lost my capacity for horror.
And that I can still make myself turn the dial,
and search for signal.