Untitled Poem by Matthew Jungers written 2/20/08.
Do the TVs know that they'll soon be
without a signal?
Will they pivot their rabbit ears as the signal cuts?
Saddest will be the old TVs in the garage that will
hear Oprah through the wall...
"Why has she stopped calling me?"
The rotary phones will commiserate.
And what of the analog signal itself?
She's waltzed with the radio waves since the 1930s.
She visits her most distant lovers at night --
bending through the ionosphere, brushing
shoulders with crooners on the AM bands.
Will she be forced to do some other bidding of the FCC?
Emergency broadcasts rather than love stories and mysteries?
Perhaps you're right...Mexico is the place.
Los oidos del conejo will hear their lover again.
The analog still dances there -- moving languorously
through polluted sunsets above Mexico City.
Taking her time before slipping into the comfortable
vacuum of so many suitors.
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