radio
laurel blossom

No radio
in car

No radio
on boardkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

No radio
Already stolen

Absolutely no radio!

Radio broken
Alarm is set
To go off

No radio
No money

No radio
no valuables

No radio or
valuables
in car or trunk

No radio
Stolen 3X

No radio
Empty trunk
Empty glove compartment
Honest

In car
Nothing of value

No radio
No nuthin
(no kidding)

Radio Broken
Nothing Left!

Radio Gone
Note Hole in Dashboard

Warning!
Radio Will Not Play
When Removed
Security Code Required

Would you keep
Anything valuable
In this wreck?

No valuables
In this van

Please do not
Break-in
Unnecessarily

Thank you
For your kind
Consideration

Nothing of value
in car
No radio
No tapes
No telephone

Poetry can come in the oddest forms. In the late 80s and early 90s, New York City was a bastion of crime and dirty movies, dirty streets and unctious odors (how's that for a word you'll never need). Then, under Mayor Guiliani, Manhattan again became an island of glamor, excitement, a new Central Park, exciting shops and clubs. 9/11 changed all of that for many of us, but the city in all it's glory goes on. "No Radio" was a poem from that era before NY's renaissance, when having a radio in you car was just a passing thing, a momentary pleasure. If you lived in NY and you had a car, the radio was stolen. It was almost expected. Signs, with statements like the ones in the poem, were common sights. All the poet has done is to be observant and write it all down. Hey, you know how to write. Give it a try. Lets, see if you can listen, really listen - to conversations, to friends, to strangers, and write a poem similar to the one above. If you can't listen, see instead. Turn your observations into a poem. This isn't an assignment so much, as a challenge - oh, except that I will grade it. See what you can come up with.