September is the cruellest month, breeding
Sitcoms out of months of reruns, mixing
Marketing and desire, stirring
Dull viewers with fall shows.
Summer kept it off, covering
The set in forgetful dust, feeding
A little life into drowsy tubers.
Radio surprised us, coming over the wireless set
With a shower of snow; we warmed glowing tubes,
Static due to sunspots, through unseen airwaves,
And tuned in; it talked for an hour.
Bin gar kein Schuhkaufer, stamm' aus Polk High, echt athletisch.
And when we were children, staying at the neighbor's,
My cousin's, he showed to me the set,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, Mortimer Snerd. And on it went.
On the small screen, there it's for free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

It's a work in progress. Comments? Drop me a line.