Bad News

We used to receive bad news
in the privacy of our homes;
a Saturday morning call
from a tearful Auntie Joan

to say father had finally
lost to leukaemia; or my wife
interrupting the sleep between shifts
when our son had been run over.

Anxiety and grief might be indulged
in secret, but mobiles are like
an enemy drone; they find you in bars,
village halls, buses, and your reaction

is witnessed by friends and colleagues,
strangers who just happen to be around
at the time, to catch it and pass it on,
to be liked and followed.




Poetry by Ray Miller
Read 8 times
Written on 2026-02-23 at 10:00

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
I was filled with compassion for you when reading the second stanza. Such an awful thing to wake up to. :( But there was of course so much more in this fine poem, and its core premise was undeniably true. We do have the free will to turn the thing off, though, and I think it is something we should do more often. Blessings, Allen
2026-02-23