You know the joy
of scanning radio stations
while driving a vast,
uninhabited area at night,

picking up faraway voices
talking only to you.

I just tuned into
a baseball game somewhere,
the crack of a bat,
the cheer of a crowd,

the voice of an announcer
drunk on the game —
'the ball drops in for a hit! ' —

like Harry Caray
all those years in St. Louis,
bringing on radio wings
the news that really mattered,

the news only poets
can deliver to me today