Breaking News is Breaking My Tired Old Heart

source

In those days,
journalism was a sacred trust.
"Stop the presses!" the editor
would roar, flying out back
to the men laying upside down words
in the frames, row upon row.

When it printed,
we all sat around the news room,
reading, with inky fingers and
smiles of satisfaction:
another paper, done.
The news, then, was pretty:
a good orchard crop,
a Lady of the Lake crowned,
another summer Regatta.

Now, news is everywhere,
and is pretty much all appalling.
Journalists report what they hear said
with their own ears,
report what is being slid through Congress
by sleight of hand,
and it is all labeled fake news.
How convenient.

It's a "witch hunt",
yet the reporting is of words
from his own mouth,
abhorrent words.

"Walls work.
Just ask Israel," the big toad sneers.
Ask a Palestinian how well walls work.

I am living in a world
of nightmare news
and uncertain futures,
where all we once held dear
has been knocked on its ass.

In those days,
we believed truth was beauty
and beauty was truth.
And now our tired old hearts
grow weary,
weary at the daily news.


for Brendan's prompt at Real Toads: the news