Do Not Adjust

A hum beneath the broadcast,

a test card before dawn.

The voice has warmed its vowels.

It says our cause is winning.

It says the dead are few

and none of them are ours.

Go to sleep.

Do not adjust.

The fault is not the picture.

Sit nearer to the set.

Everything is normal at this distance.

But the town keeps its own ledger

in black ribbon and hush —

two more this fortnight, both nineteen,

and the set said none of ours.

Do not adjust.

The vertical is holding.

Your set is not the problem.

Remain inside your own glow.

This is a test.

This is only ever a test.

In the event of actual events,

you would be told

what you were seeing.

Do not adjust —

we cut the picture off tonight.

We climbed up to the aerials.

Every cable runs downhill

to the dark side of the hill.