Poem #20 for National Poetry Month. My son loves to listen to radio stations that have lots of static. This drives me crazy and he delights in that.

Range

Static, the noise of in between

Or being not quite tuned in

Interference brings on the fuzzy

Frantic sound that splits my synapses

And creates such a crawling clawing creepiness

That I flee the room

When it seeps into my focus

I want it to be on or off

Not in no man’s land

I can’t understand how

You can listen to the barely audible

For hours just to hear

One drop of content

That you make out between

The rushing worlds of wooly words

My madness delights you

When I take to hiding

Because of this infernal noise

That you seek out

You find something soft and soothing

Coming to that place

Of uncertain danger and doubt

Making out barely what is being said

Excites the explorer or emerging mind

You sleep to it

When awake, you study it

You sift through it

For fortune’s faculties

That scales the heights unknown