We’d sit at tables, desks, in cars, in beds, morning coffee
steaming through your crooning voice. You had us
across airwaves far and wide. Mesmerized.
As simple as the lullaby of your words
cascading into our intimate space. We
tuned in daily for you to cast your spell, for you to
dissolve or resolve. Another day’s affairs.
We, the audience you drew near. We,
the hearts of your Canada. We,
the collective individuals. We,
the consensual and not, with trust placed
where it ought to be – within ribbed walls
where now each beat marks disappointment. Horror.