Talk Radio

ruby circle gleams in the night, the
single cyclops eye: staring through
the black
as the train man rides his hobbyhorse
again
and again
---fourth night now on the same topic

oh, the bellicose, the bleaters, the
callers checklist their catchphrases,
careful not to omit one

oh, the poppers of pills, or those too
refined for words, playing their
tinkling melodies, the aural
wallpaper to make bacon and eggs to

oh, the screamers, the ruddy rudefaced
bellowing men--where would we be
without them--and their catty
counterparts--that one had her meow-mix
this morning

how finely tuned, the tenor of
their voices, to play upon the
ears of the audience, the listening
herds, falling asleep to the
world of the otherworldly, the
ghost voices that cry out, trapped
between this rock and a better place,
wandering souls