The Tube TV
A bulky box, a cathode ray's soft glow,
The analog TV in a gentle fading show.
Its rabbit ears, a hopeful, awkward plea,
To catch a signal wild and wandering free.
The snowy static, a familiar haze,
Before an image flickered through the maze.
Adjusting knobs with patient turning hand,
To find a picture clear across the land.
The vibrant colors sometimes slightly off,
Yet bringing stories, laughter, tears, and scoff.
A family gathered in the evening's hush,
Sharing moments in a silent, visual rush.
The local channels limited and few,
But each a window offering something new.
Cartoons on Saturday,
a movie late at night,
A comforting presence bathing rooms in light.
The test pattern's hum, a signal late at night,
That broadcasting slept until the morning's light.
A sense of finality when colors bled to gray,
A silent promise of a brand new day.
Now flat screens gleam with pixels sharp and clean,
The analog's warmth, a memory unseen
By younger eyes who know but digital's art,
A world more perfect tearing worlds apart.
So let us cherish that old faithful friend,
Whose fuzzy pictures marked a time we'd spend
Together watching stories unfold slow,
The analog TV in its poignant afterglow.
©bfa040525
Copyright ©
Bernard F. Asuncion
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