Wake Up, Dad

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When TV began to resize our world

my father saw the end of civilization;

This box is the tomb of reading, doing,

memory, imagination and communication.”

No!” I said. “It is the birth-womb

of shared knowledge and hopes,

the loom of language, tolerance,

And the death of misanthropes.

Dad never changed his objections

to that toxic pixillated  curse.

His elegant deep earth projections

Were aborted before birth.

He lost his right to drive,

lost his confident sensuality,

And though his body was alive,

He struggled with reality.

He lost is his wife of 60 years;

and at night searched in desperation

and sometimes knows he hears

her voice in song or conversaion.

Convicted in his 10th decade

Of breathing too much mining dust,

Of  many rules he disobeyed 

And unrepentant  wanderlust,

He puts on clever acts

to make it very clear

he understands the words or facts

that he pretends to read or hear.

You were right about TV.” I say,

It shrinks the mind and heart,

spits out toxic babble night and day

Devaluating all words might impart;

It’s knowledge without knowing,

and movement without motion

Mindless reaping without sowing

trivializing genuine emotion.

Perhaps,” My Dad suggests,

There are bright worlds to find 

pinned like brittle butterflies

to vast dusty walls of mind.”

Dad! That’s can’t be you!” I say:

It must be from a blog;

You never talk that way.

You speak only analog.

Then I start; open up  my eyes

“We’re awake,” I say

“We were asleep I realize!

I’ll come again another day”..




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