Blame it on the radio
By Patrick T. Reardon
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That I drove my semi through motel wall.
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That bomb went off in grocery cart.
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That I sowed creeping sorrel on pure fairway.
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That Quaaludes were found in principal’s desk.
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That I lost hope and credit card.
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That highway centerline was crooked.
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That I taunted lip-pierced beggar.
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That naked window was peeped.
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That I slammed slow, old woman with bike.
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That random votes were cast.
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That I threw the scarecrow off roof.
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That word was passed to stormtrooper.
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That I wrote beautiful lies.
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That counterfeit money was thrown in collection basket.
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That I screamed “Fire!”
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That 300-year-old tree was chopped at midnight.
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That I sold myself into slavery.
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Patrick T. Reardon
10.10.21
This poem originally appeared in Meat for Tea in Volume 15, Issue 2, June, 2021
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.
