Anchor Poem by Insane HalftheTime

A man on camera
Kempt. In order.
Every night at the same hour
He reads words his onlookers can't see
But his sonorous voice pronounces
About crime, presidents, murder and plague.
He asks people of repute about
Matters of consequence to a nation.

I am sick or well,
Wounded or healed,
On the edge of laughter or tears,
And he appears
Night after night
Kemp and in order through disorder.

One night he flutters his eyes,
Smiles
Flicks his tongue on the corner of his lips.
Perhaps confused,
He loses his words.
Did he struggle with tears?

As his propriety slips,
I wonder if his muscles relax or stiffen if kissed.