The First Tv

The first TV was small, red, and Russian. The first TV was a brown coffin with a small eye. The first TV was institutionalized it lived behind bars, it was white and black and always mad about its watchers. The first Tv made whole families kneel before it, our ears pinned to its tin-can speaker. The first TV was creamy and plastic it had a helicopter heart. The first TV had an alien child. it was party-colored and round like a bubblecar in a spacesuit. Now we are men, and even females can flip a hundred channels with one narrow wrist. Yet the windows are locked, and doors are buttons for beer guts, keyboards cloned, fingers and thumbs drugged and droned, in a Japanese dream. The first TV hangs around our necks; a fish-eyed tank in the dead center of our echoing minds, its inward probing eye waiting for all of us to be the first to crawl into it.