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Poem

In halcyon olden days of yore,
When box TVs were far from smart,
The youngest in house used to bore,
If lovingly, the chore TVs to start. 
Then came remotes— a political mace
At home they have tended to be,

And if I may, no less a menace—
When needed, always remote from me—
Perhaps, why we call them remote!
Which, a moment a sub’s ordered online,
Back in view from nowhere float,
Oh to make you look asinine!

Oft a cause of bedroom uproars 
And keen to start marital wars,
When, with fuzzy warmth of winter
The two-some quietly saunter. 
Yet, who’d the remote bring?
Well, not before things thaw in spring!

I’m now waiting for a remote—
Universal that’d get no one’s goat,
And one with fewer buttons than my age,
That also is easier to engage,
Ideally one, user friendly,
For an old sort not so friendly.

Today’s remotes, it appears,
Have buttons like my wasted years,
And pointless as I can see
With coloured ones, I feel lost at sea.
Even TV deft hands advise me
Not to worry, unnecessarily!  

Let today’s smart TVs feel that remote
Really turns them on, 
As for me, they often trigger my horn,
To me they feel like a crop of wild oats,
Perhaps, both because grapes are sour, 
And too tall be the vine bower.
______________________________________  
Free verse | 06.11.2022| humour

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