It’s like some shock jock station
broadcast to my head
devoted solely to arguments
from a past that never ends.
I’ll be brushing my teeth
or staring at the alarm clock
when the show comes on
forcing me to tune in:
the clash with high school classmate
still strident across the years
though he’s long since dead;
the raging battle with my brother
three Thanksgivings ago
that I’ll never win;
the red-faced shouting
matches with my dad
spinning round and round
for paternal eternity.
The best shows come late
at night with guest appearances
by people I don’t even know
challenging me to defend
some point I hold dear.
It matters little what they say,
my words drown them out—
dripping with eloquence
too late as if I’m still
prepping for debate.
Wish I could turn it off,
but that’s the price you pay
for 24-7 entertainment.
