I've Run Out of Things to Say - March 4 3024

 

I’ve Run Out of Things to Say

March 4 2024

I’ve run out of things to say.

Which is OK

because no one’s listening.

And anyway, if you didn't hear the first time

there’s no second chance.

Radio waves are different.

Broadcast out to the universe

in every direction

the moment they're made,

and though they decay

last forever;

even if

infinitesimally weak.

So as we speak

aliens

near Alpha Centauri

are watching reruns of Bonanza,

Curly, Larry, and Moe.

But my words are lost.

They depend

on earth’s thin blanket of air

that quickly smothers them,

and if not heard when they're said

are simply gone.

Even the important things.

But I’ve run out of those.

Or perhaps just despair

that whatever I say

matters at all.

Writing helps

but paper burns.

And in the unlikely event

a poem was learned by heart

it won't be remembered for long.

While the internet

depends on servers

that will either fail, or become obsolete;

just as the back-and-white TV

with rabbit ears and vacuum tubes

looks ridiculous now.

Nothing wrong with Bonanza, of course.

And I have to admit

the Stooges still make me laugh.

Aliens, fiddling with the antennae

and squinting at bad reception

through a scrim of static noise,

wondering what on earth.