Watching TV Every Night

I lie on my bed naked as I watch TV.

It’s okay, nobody’s watching.

I’m watching something grotty, it’s better than anything soppy.

It’s okay, nobody is watching me watching this.

Though as the action fades to black I see my own reflection.

Watching me watching this watching that naked.

And I look at my reflection and pull the covers over.

I look at my reflection and throw the remote over.

But there I am, staring right back at me.

And the only thing I long for.

Is a reflection-free TV.


Choo Choo, Choo Choo, Thomas

We walk in the middle of the road to avoid the chance of bush rats, snakes, lizards, roaches and any other miniature moving phobia. The lamps only power on when they pick up our footsteps, or maybe it’s our heat, perhaps even our scent. We’re walking in darkness until they flicker on, and even the starry sky and half crescent moon can’t give us some light. If a bus came hurtling around the corner, we’re just end up as unseen smears until the morning sun. You wouldn’t even hear our screams, for the sound of crickets are creating white noise. And you can’t beat that.

tom 1

A face appears in the distance, the nearby lights power down. It’s a knock off Thomas the Tank, leering at us as if it had been waiting all this time. If you attach the face of Thomas to something else, the fun is no longer present, the warmth it typically offers becomes cold hard plastic. Ringo Starr isn’t around, it’s all wrong. It’s been wrong for a long time.

It powers on. It rides down the hill. We try to run. You can’t hear it toot, there are crickets stuffed in it’s chimney. The fat controller rides in the front carriage, but he’s lost control, and all of his clothes.


tom 2

It’s not so nice to be an unseen smear.

She Taunts Her In The Day, She Smothers Her In The Night

Standing in front of the mirror,
The reflection does not change.
It’s all the same face.
She only lingers throughout the day,
Waiting for the night to reflect all desire.

She appears at the end of the bed with a smile,
Plucking the strings on your acoustic guitar.
She plays it better than you.
She whistles the tune you cannot whistle.
All night long she outperforms.

Standing in front of the mirror,
The changes in the reflection are only slight.
There are bags on that same face.
She only lingers throughout the day,
Waiting for the night to reflect all desire.

Maybe we will change.
With each restless night.
Without any respite.
I hope that I may change.