An Act of Vandalism
The radio no longer works.
Its lights have fallen dark.
The needles lay fallow.
There is no music.
The airways are full of the stuff.
An instrument, newer, or in better repair
would find it and fill the room
But not this one.
The plug was cut off years ago.
The antenna plucked away and trashed.
The front plate scratched. Tubes removed.
An act of vandalism.
The murder of communication.
A deliberate act designed to kill, never imagining
it would be you who would starve.
About this poem
First of all the picture. It’s not a radio, but an old oscilloscope. FOr my techie friends who also read poetry. No need to tell me. I know.
But it is as close a picture as I had for the poem.
When people cut off communication, they decide to let things die. No matter what they say.