Static

The TV's on and it's all static
Stagnant channels of newsfeed and I'm sick
Of forecasted weathers of hostility.
Can't we acclimate to prosperity?
Why must there be the heavy storm panic?

Breaking stories—cracking lightning—roll thick
Through an air of high pressure dramatics
And dark clouds ripe with volatility.
It's all static.

Roaring thunder rumbling from fanatics
Scares the scurrying people—erratic—
From their scandals and their liabilities.
The washed-out concept of civility
Broadcasts bolts of something bureaucratic.
It's all static.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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