A Poetic Study In The Communication Art

I think of myself as

Living in an industry needing a pass

Sometimes referred to as just a member in a cast

On a show

Where the audience screams “what do you know?”

While others want ‘to wrap it up its time to go’

Always asking “can I please?”

And ‘how much are you charging for advertising fees?’

They say knowledge came from a four-year degree

While others modeled under a dollar tree

But here I am

Filtering through another scam

Attacking with might

Using questions and answers in my fight

Against those who think they have might

Sending me to the keyboard to write

Translating information in my steno notebook

Scribbled until up I look

After finding the hook

About the tragedy that made everyone shook

Or amused while they cook

Whether things are true or false

Facts are my boss

Which in the end

Fences do mend

When studying engaging with others

Who are not Presidents or Governors

Respectable interaction

Never needing a retraction

Are the ways to live a communicative life

Preventing using the steak knife

You see responsible is what I am

Talking to the interested public not a fan

Avoiding glory

Telling a story

Family and friends will not forget

Starring a subject who was upset

Starting to die ever so young

Reality preparing them to be hung

Disease made the noose

Diagnosed being the accuse

Death tightening the rope

Struggling to cope

Watching the breathless strangle

I thought up an angle

“Can I have a final comment?

About it.”

Knowing the time to ask

It was my journalistic task

Accompanying everyone wearing surgical masks

“It is too late

My life was great.”

Was the quote

From the source staying afloat

No longer paddling their own boat.

Later at the all-night diner

Monitoring the deadline timer

An adversity feature came alive

Buzzing like a bee in the hive

Inspirational the reader feeling empowered

Only to turn the pages suddenly to be soured

Where there was something to fear

When the death notices appear,

Screaming headlines, “did you hear?”

“About the front-page luring tease worthy of tears”

No longer buried

Reported in a hurry

Having nothing to worry

Just a daily sidebar or obit

Something to read when one freely sits

Inside the coffee table conversation pit

Usually visited by investigative cops

Listening wondering if the commentary will ever stop