Ode to Jerry Springer
Each night, I lay upon my bed.
The day's events run through my head.
Computer off, exhaust fan whirrs.
Fall into bed as vision blurs.
I look up at the LCD
a foot above my ol' tv.
My bloodshot eyes see half past one.
I know my night is far from done.
I pull my clicker close once more.
Turn power on. Hit channel four.
The Gayle show's coming to an end.
(She's on because she's Oprah's friend.)
Two minutes of commercial break
then the man who drained Ricki's lake.
Made Rosie's new hair stand on end.
Kicked Geraldo's ass to CNN.
Today's show features Lynn and Ray.
Ray doesn't know that Lynn is gay.
They've dated for two years or so.
She's sleeping with her best friend Flo.
Flo has a secret too, you see.
She's pregnant by Lynn's brother, Lee.
The fighting isn't close to done
and this is all in segment one.
The show becomes amoral blur.
Is she with him? Is she with her?
There's also the girl with a bad weave
who's really a transvestite named Steve.
My use for tv of this kind
is fodder for my sleeping mind.
If I survive the new "Sleaze King",
my mind can withstand anything.
So rise, King Jerry! Claim your throne!
For slime, you are the only one.