Television Poem by Mary Champion

When I was small and fat and monochrome,
I was frequently the centre of the home.
They only lived for when I came on air,
and when I did, each one would grab a chair,
then gaze, entranced, until my screen had cleared
and the little dot completely disappeared.

I got so much attention in those days,
they fondled me in oh so many ways.
By loving hands, I was controlled -
adjust my horizontal hold.
move the aerial a tad,
when the ghosting got too bad.
Adored that tender human touch
that showed they loved me very much.

A wider screen; a slimmer build,
more air time - conversation killed.
Then I gave more variety
as channels went from one to three.
Colour added to my charms-
they welcomed it with open arms.
Remote control - they fell for that-
slumped on the sofa- growing fat.
Me, I missed the pleasure trips
of knobs depressed by fingertips.

As time passed by I multiplied.
And it was such a source of pride;
no longer one to every home-
now every chamber had its own.
Mum watched while she cooked the tea;
Dad watched on the lavat'ry

I colonised the messy rooms of teens,
who lay in bed and goggled at my screen,
then fell asleep, while I played on and on,
till a parent pulled the plug and I was gone.

Now I'm slim and sleek and on the net,
wide screened, HD and smart as you can get.
I'm sitting on the cutting edge: 3D,
with several hundred channels: some for free.
They buy me flash accessories,
like sound bars - but I still can't please.
I only ask a little more respect,
that surely isn't too much to expect.
I feel abused, neglected and alone
when they turn me on and then play with their
phone.

 
TV2
The screen is clean
presenting an HD view of the world.
Behind, you find,
a tangle of cables twisted and curled.