WHERE’S THE REMOTE?

The only thing in America that promises the people more than the politicians is commercials. –Evan Esar

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Like many men, when a commercial comes on while watching TV, I reach for the remote and change channels faster than you can say Jack Robinsonitzskivich (I used to do it faster than you can say Jack Robinson, but my reflexes ain’t what they used to be). For some reason, this male prerogative gives my wife a foreboding fit faster than you can say “#*@#!” — which, loosely translated, is what she did say the last time we watched TV together. And, as if that’s not enough, more often than not, there are commercials on the channel(s) I change to, and by the time I find a channel without a commercial, it’s time to go back to what we were watching in the first place. So you see, what she puts up with is nothing compared to my gripe.

Frankly, I think showing commercials at the same time on different channels is a vast conspiracy, and there oughta be a law agin it. I don’t have the remotest idea what my wife finds so compelling about commercials anyway–most of them these days are dumber than a Trump tweet. At least, back in TV’s good old days, commercials had some meat to them:

And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to join my forgiving wife to watch our favorite program–you know, the quiz show where the answer is in the form of a question.

“Honey, where’s the remote?”

TWO BAD

Well, no one has blasphemed against the one-line poems in my last post, so by all that is holy, I should forget about my threat to up the ante with a post of two-line poems this time around. Ha ha — I’ll forget when Hell freezes over! Although no one commented to complain, I expect the thought crossed the minds of some….and even if it didn’t, the very suspicion demands consequences. Consequently, I am left with no choice but to proceed with the poems I intended to post anyway, and it serves you right!

My first two-line poem is unWitt(er)ingly brought to you by….

SPIES LIKE US*

We measure success
one imposter at a time.

*If this title sounds familiar, but you can’t quite ‘picture’ it….there’s always Google! Ha ha ha!

THIS IS A TITLE

Sometimes a poem
is entitled to be obvious.

ENVIRONMENTALLY CORRECT [previously published]

Poems don’t grow on trees….
however, some are recycled.

HEARING I’M PAIRED

Poetry is that
conversation we could not
otherwise have had.
–Cid Corman, Kyoto, Japan

Sorry I do
not speak haiku.

We interrupt this post for another commercial:

OBSESSION

buy Calvin Klein.
Sell futures.

GIVE ME THAT OLD-TIME RELIGION

Of course God knows everything —
He’s been around forever.

WHAT GOD TOLD ADAM AND EVE

You don’t want to know
(so, on with the show).

IS THIS GREAT POETRY, OR WHAT?

The power of suggestion
is that it begs the question.

Is this a great job, or what? But apparently not everyone shares my view:

OLD TESTAMENT RE-VIEW

Take this Job
and shove it.

FINNEGAN’S DYING WISH

Wake me when it’s over
(re Joyce).

We conclude with….

TWO MORE POEMS BY MISTERMUSE

One
short.