It drew people to it like a fire.

The needle floating up and down its dial.

Fishing for the news. It was a horror house,

A band-stand, Europe in flames,

A dummy and his master.

Among

The cloudy mirrors and calendars.

The radio knobs are toys now.

The beasts have been dragged out;

No tankers hug the coast at night,

Afraid of German submarines; the 1940s

Became the 50s.

The radio crackled

Like a forest once, or glittered

Like a pier in the brain's darkness.

Walked by Miss Americas carrying

Flowers out with the tide.

Articles by Lawrence Dugan

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