the poetry of closed captions

I listen to music and watch CNN in closed captions while plunging forward and back on the elliptical machine. I follow the white-on-black type unfolding on the screen, picturing frantic fingers trying to keep up with the fast talk of ad-conscious anchors and analysts. In one news loop, I read about the deposed Iraqi “deck tater.” In another about the new U.N. Secretary General who “steaks office today.” And for a moment, I can’t help but envy those hard-of-hearing TV watchers for whom Kofi Anan’s replacement is a controversial performance artist. For whom Saddam Hussein was no more harmful than a starboard spud.