Leave My Freaking Station Alone
I barely know how you bear it, I said to the grapefruit
Of course, true to form, she tried to smooth everything out.
I was irked because no words arrived to sooth me.
Which made her easier to eat, actually – more palpable.
Masticating my cereal is never easy these days,
especially when the news is on, so I shut that puppy down.
If it is not good news, I do not need it, especially in the morning.
There was a wreck at 17th and Lamar, as usual.
I see one there almost every morning,
Yet I continue driving this same exact route.
And me, the woman who loathes routine,
Actually living one now. Is it my age, do you suppose?
The car radio is on some 1970’s music but not folk music.
The one channel I had on before my husband drove
And ruined things by changing my channel.
He is going to be eating mothballs for supper tonight.
My girlfriend calls to yack about her dead husband again.
I wish he was still alive so I could beat his ass, she says.
I have heard it about sixty-nine times, still it never gets old
Especially this morning as listen to the wrong freaking station.
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