I am not the only one I know
who cried when Michael Enright retired
or felt that when Anna Maria Tremonti
announced her podcast,
it was like life after death.
I can still remember the faceless voices
that played non-stop from our kitchen radio
in my childhood home
so that our budgie eventually talked
exactly like Peter Gzowski.
Or that for a long time
any new host of a favourite show
feels like a step-parent
doing their best.
I probably shouldn’t,
but I categorize people
by what CBC radio shows they listen
(or don’t listen) to,
and if they don’t listen at all
I feel the same strange sadness
like that time I went to the library
with a boyfriend in high school
and he spent the whole hour
not picking up a single book
and I realized there are some people
who complain they are bored,
but never notice
they are surrounded
by invitations for free trips
to so many worlds.
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