Damn Radios Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Damn Radios

I wish that radio was never invented
a damn box that mother said it was:
"Den of dogs speaking in our tongue…"

In times it makes me dance;
in times burns lava-like.
I wish it was vodka...

She is on radio...
her answers on her child
sulphuric acid down throat
"…is deaf and is blind…"

A magic crystal takes me far:
"…only two black holes …"
colleague talked of own child.

Now some talk, of syphilis
"…of a whore, prostitutes..."
say some who knew him.

How I wish there was no radio.