News Radio

By Elizabeth Smith

The highway roars. The seat belts flap. I push
my head against its rest and listen to
an alto voice announce among the rush:
“A Beirut burst has smoked up buildings—threw
all glass to mist and lives to rubble. Sky
rains ashes over mountain pines. A sick
man enters clinic, maims his doctor by
machete, hammers in the skull.” I pick
left lane. I brake and turn. The corner sign
displays red spray paint, “I can’t breath.” I miss
red marks on spelling quizzes. Reporter times
out, “That’s your world this hour.” Speaker is
off. Welcome, peace. My backseat baby coos.
This hour, my world is fine blue sunshine views.