Information Fatigue

The water in the video is a brown, churning arm

carrying a yellow sedan toward a bridge.

I’ve seen the car hit the pylon four times now.

The anchor has a voice like a polished floor.

My glasses catch the blue glare of the screen.

In the reflection, the casualty count scrolls

across my pupils, a red ticker-tape parade

for a disaster three thousand miles away.

I should go to bed. I should turn off the light.

But the remote is a heavy stone in my lap.

I am waiting for the feeling to reach my chest,

but it stops at the glass, a cold, bright hum.

Somewhere, a man is screaming at the rain.

Here, I am just a person in a darkened chair,

counting the seconds between the commercials.