Poems from the
Inside
Seek
the light of day . . .
Static
There is a lot of static on the air waves.
Turn the dial, it's all hiss and then some garble.
We're in some minor kind of heat wave,
that's all that you can hear among the babble.
Ninety-three degrees up at the airport.
Four days within September, two broken records.
Some kid shut up his school by making threats;
a house a-fire, another woman dead;
the papers pages filled with theives and liars.
The truth among the news you barely see
consumed by all the senseless tragedy.
Over forty island nations going under -
very very slowly slipping under -
by the melting of the icecaps, and rising of the sea.
© D. Winter
this piece first appeared in print November 24, 1999
