...straight and narrow, too.
Wash table, countertop I used fr'intents,
And brush past lo, her flat screen...in betrayl
The id'ot box now comes to life! T'avail
Grab up the big remote and turn it thence
Off--like I could. How it goes silent hence
But glares at me with "no connection," pale
Yet deadly on its face. I yield up. They'll
Know how to fix that, right? What's not pretense?
If only I were as the sparrows, fer
All that! How shall I "get there," eh? What do
We in our mad haste for the dollar? Were
Such efforts godly, why's so diff'cult too?
Lo, sell my time? My body too? What's poor
Is how I know, yet swear sich lies are true.
Where's the other sonnet I wrote on this topic?! hidden back in my notebook's earlier pages, stink.
— The End —