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Cathode Rays in the Darkness

Thelma Todd is on the Late Late Show,
Brought to the us by Kent cigarettes, which refines and
Refreshes with the exclusive Micronite Filter.
Her still tragic life in the steaming suburbs knows no past.
It is a sucking monster to which there are no survivors.
The holy TV in this house prays with its face on the floor,
Screaming its way through backyards under the parallel clotheslines,
Illuminating with cathode rays, the fragile test patterns of existence.

Lloyd Thaxton is on at 4 o’clock before the news.
Dressed in a Van Huesen shirt with skinny black tie,
He sashayes under those hanging dangling long plays, 
Like a finger person jittering across the sea with magic shoes,
Igniting the twisting dance floor with blue-eyed soul.
He is the coolest of the phony-star dance mavens,
Lip syncing with panache and moving lips through album slits.
He ghost-dances now Slauson style to the beat of the dancing dead.

Baxter Ward chews through the nightly harbingers at 6,
Brought to us by Marx Toys; Do you have them all? 
He sits behind a square jet black table with head pointed south;
The Great Garloo warns us to beware the Industrial Military Complex,
The insidious Cold War chatterings of Nikita and Jimmy Dodd;
But Baxter Ward assures us he will be there when the Iron Curtain falls;
When Thelma Todd mysteriously dies again in her Lincoln Convertible,
When Lloyd Thaxton lip syncs one last time Unchained Melody in Vietnamese.

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