Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Shortwave from the Moon

It’s a little before 5.  I’m listening to the Beeb.

Matthew Bannister interviewing

A one-legged asskicker from Leeds, or something like that.

Drinking coffee, waiting for NPR’s morning news.

It’s how I start my weekdays.

In an hour, I’ll be off to work,

To my job in commercial radio.

You know, the ones vilified as crass

During the local NPR fund drives.

I’ve been in local broadcasting for 40 years now.

(And if that’s not a testament

To the tenacity of inertia, I don’t know what is.)

It’s all corporate now, and that’s fine.

No villains here, just people

Adjusting constantly to a calculated craziness.

I find it exciting, but lacking causality.

Systems get set up by mute, blinkered IT guys.

It would be impressive to know where it’s all going,

But I’m really not sure anyone knows.

High noise, low signal.

Like listening to shortwave from the moon.

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