“With Every Newscast”
With every newscast comes the view, a plane
Is down in oceans, miners trapped in gas,
And then, of course, the common daily tasks
Assigned authorities to find the lost, the lame,
The disenfranchised strain of minds that lose
Themselves, and then must all be found.
The searchers spread through inlets and the grounds
Of parks, and far-flung camping paths. They choose
To find these souls because there is no choice,
Perhaps a kind of last respect expressed—humanity
Enforced by wrote—and cause enough to see
What can be done to locate bodies, voice
Concerns and let it go at that. And, who am I
Who asks wherefore, and who are they who die?