The gorgeous newscaster bites her lip.

Though rare, it always makes for a great story

to be on the verge of tears

while cutting to a commercial break.


She wanted the white noise wash of rain

to ruin her hair off camera.

Standing, soaked under orchards of

orange trees breathing into the lungs


tucked under the hearth of a blue blazer.

It is the advertisement for piece of mind

available from our phones for a small fee.

The newscaster has held our hands


through the mobs of inlaws as they left

shits on the marble floors of Capitol Hill.

But who will now comfort this teller of news

with the assurance of betterment, soon?


She holds her phone underneath her desk

and touches the application to open up–

digitally placing her amidst half dead trees

left with hole infested leaves and crying


in the rain.


It is a sound not dissimilar to the splash

of hot soapy water dripping from the sponge,

cleaning blood from the eyes of

presidential statues that can now truly


declare, they have seen it all.


. . .