Click here to listen to John Hodgen read this poem.
CNN is always on.
The old people seem to like it, the receptionist would say,
the way the stories loop around again, always the same,
the pretty news anchor, the weather in Missouri heading our way.
But today something is happening, live footage unfolding.
The old people lean in, held in its sway.
"They beheaded those soldiers," I hear one of them say,
and then again, in the way old people say everything twice,