station to station
I found myself repeatedly moving the dial
clapping randomly at small somethings
flying in my face
sent in one by one by some
strange god testing my mid-summer mettle
uninterested in my inner well-being
let alone my outwardly comical countenance
instead secretly intercepting frequencies
concocting far worse consequences
involving matters of life and death
august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
I love this poem. Especially this:
“clapping randomly at small somethings”
If we don’t do that, we miss life.
Thank you for commenting on this piece, Shawna.