Media Journalist During COVID-19

i work for
the new york
times, or politico
or fox, or
cnn, or any
of the flat
screened word factories
that exist to
educate, speculate, divide
conquer the masses
fixated on their
iphones, ipads, laptops

so we guess
about escalating death
rates, about what
has already gone
wrong, and all
the things we
still don’t know
about ventilators and
arrogant millennials, and
west virginians who
are not impacted
by our hysteria

but we keep
typing and posting
because we must
capitalize on all
the eyeballs stuck
at home, sheltering
in our sentences
and photos, following
our every word
about economy on
the brink of
massive global recession

and when this
finally ends, how
many lives will
we take, who
will count the
minutes that were
spent reading and
reading, and scrolling
hours of time
we robbed from
the worried, who
should’ve known better

Graceland Dropout

They sport cowboy boots and We Love Elvis t-shirts holding iPads, wearing headphones for the tour. I sang Blue Suede Shoes karaoke once, but that wasn’t enough to keep me walking around his Graceland estate with the rest of the ducks, waddling from room to room taking photos of the King’s white TV set and blue curtains.

Not sure how we got here, Memphis sweat and people twanging about how it was Grandma who liked him, not Grandpa. I wanted to love this little slice of my country, even woke up listening to Paul Simon’s tune, but ten minutes in I knew I was a goner. To say I don’t really care is an understatement, the man was a man, sang songs, acted, died of drugs and bodily neglect, his health wrecked by fame and addiction.

But the pre-tour film left all that out, as generation after generation venerates the get rich success, crash and burn failure of his jumpsuit days and private plane, and I suppose I’m the curmudgeon, sitting watching them all, waiting for the shuttle to take me back, away from America’s celebration of this glorious excess.