“Your room,” said my mother, at least twice,
“Is the warmest room in the house.”
My room was the crème in an Oreo,
The prize in the Cracker Jacks box.
My 65-pound Motorola portable TV forced me
To imagine the colors, but
A wealth of happy funny people lived inside it:
Lucy and Ricky,
Fred and Ethel (who, I discovered very recently, hated each other).
It brought me Danny Thomas’s incomparable warmth
And the riotous gang who hung with Dick van Dyke.
Very late one night it picked up KOA-TV in Denver,
Which got me all excited, so I wrote them there and—get this—
The bastards blamed it on sunspots.
I thought I had the coolest TV on Earth.
The bastards demolished my illusion.
I was just an East Coast kid,
Though I didn’t know it, not then.
I didn’t know there were TV stations called K-something.
Every morning I watched the nation’s weather reports roll by
To elevator music on the Today show.
Hugh Downs was always smiling.
“More to Come,” they announced at station breaks.
How in the hell did they know?