The television dies and I lose the sight
Of Oprah's guests; their clumsy pain
Is silenced. I jump to watch the stormy night
But the lightning, too, is lost in rain.
Flicker, and the light has none to give.
Books are mute. By the radio static pools.
Bereft of professional's life to live
I look at mine, and yours. We're fools.
Clammy, I wonder; Are you alone too?
In the dark? Are you hungering?
Don't open the fridge, you'll rot the stew
You spent a lifetime simmering.
Your form is wiped by sixty sudden watts
Your face erased by a talking head.
I off the tube to hear my thoughts.
I run coatless through rain. Phone's dead.
B.T. Murtagh
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