Monday, August 14, 2006

MR. MUTE

MR. MUTE

I have a minor issue with the drivel that’s on TeeVee.
Half of the stuff they show is ads that it ticks me off to see.
The remedy, in my sullen mind, is just as plain as day.
You just depress where the thing says “MUTE,” and the garbage has
no more to say.
And I hate that the people who build remotes make that mute button
small and obscure.
That is the target you want to stab with a move both swift and sure.
If I was designing remote controls, well, I want you to know,
My mute button would maybe be roughly the size of New Mexico.
I’d make it a contrasting color, with maybe a light-bulb blinking.
I want a mute-button that doesn’t require no searching, deciding, or
thinking.
I want the sound track off RIGHT NOW! Timing is really critical,
When they’re speaking of hemorrhoids, sexual drought, or, worse
yet, of persons political.
As a matter of, while I am off with this anti-ad bee in my bonnet,
I’d build me a stand-alone mute-button, with a teeny remote
somewhere it.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Chappell House Drawing


Pen and ink drawing from a photo by Alana Carrott.

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Lee Roy

LEE ROY

My neighbor brought a rooster home, a big old handsome boy.
He’s king of the Loa Hatchery, now, and she calls the bird Lee Roy
I’d guess he was a senator, in some near-distant past,
‘Cause all he does is strut and crow, all showboat and bombast.
Old Lee Roy has a gear loose, though, in his circadian clock.
He snoozes right through dawn, the hour for the crowing of the cock.
And then he senses that he’s missed his chance for his morning song,
And so that silly rooster goes and crows the whole day long.
As Shakespeare would say, this blatant hubris, verily, doth sicken,
But Lee Roy don’t care what Shakespeare says. Old Lee Roy just a
chicken.
And maybe he ain’t boasting at all. It might be his way to beg,
To beg for a hen, so he could sire a bouncing baby egg.
The thing of it is that there ain’t no hens within his royal kingdom.
If I could find him one or two, I’d cage ‘em up, and bring dem,
So Lee Roy could fulfill his urge to join in the sexual ramble,
And maybe we’d have an egg or two to fry, or poach, or scramble.
I’ve not a clue to why Lee Roy feels the urge to celebrate.
Unless some lady birds jump his fence, his future is celibate.