I should keep high my empathy
for the sitcom characters
who have become seasoned
in our modern wired air.
Their rectangled life of humor
and gaiety amidst the threat
of job discontinuity. I find such
heroism in their dark days.
Ozzie and Lucy and all
those who would come to sit
close by me each night of the week
have lost their pathway into me.
How do I undo the shame of missing
so many TV years?
The talking detergent boxes
and pill doctor recommendations
cause me to long for the early days
of single channeling
now that I am gray and dirty
and less accepting.
The younger ones hug
at my arthritis as they ask me
why I didn’t listen to the sweet
admonitions of medical alchemy.
If only I had bought the
right toothpaste, the corn flakes,
the hair cream, the TV dream,
I might still be watching Zorro.