Teletype

my father gathered scripts from the teletype machines
and took us randomly to the paper my sister and I
to hear their mystical clucking to see the press run

to feel the thunder of the afternoon editions or the evening ones.
now Im far from that and so is he. and I think suddenly
what if God sent messages over the teletype what would they be

as in a dream it came to me: the words flashing on an inner sea
with wild lament:
this is what the teletype sent:

I make something beautiful and they trash it. I make something beautiful and they trash it. I make something beautiful and they trash it and trash it 
and trash it...

Ill make something beautiful...

mary angela douglas 21 april 2020