After the Ticker

I fell asleep on the couch with it on.

Woke at three to the same segment—

same anchor, same footage, same strip

of words moving right to left.

The remote was on the floor.

I left it there. Watched

another forty minutes, trying to find

the thing that had seemed urgent

when I'd turned it on—

some feeling like dread, or obligation.

I couldn't locate it anywhere.

The city in the footage, I knew it

but couldn't place it.

Then the anchor glanced up from her desk

at the same angle I'd already seen,

and I understood.

I turned it off. The screen

went black. I could see the room in it—

the lamp, the ceiling,

myself small in the center.

The remote still on the floor.