My older daughter is getting married today. Since I have no time to write a new poem, I'm posting an old one from 2009, when all the TV broadcasting in the U.S. switched from digital to analog.
An Elegy for Analog: 6/12/2009
On this day, analog TV gave up
the ghosts- and the snow and the tin foil
on the antenna and the test pattern
and the national anthem at dawn
and “this is a test” and horizontal hold
and the slap on the side before you phoned
the repairman who wore a uniform
and tubes that glowed like embers
and tube testers at the local hardware
and the Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show
and Elvis on The Ed Sullivan Show
and opera singers and jugglers on The Ed Sullivan Show
and families huddled around that black and white
campfire, eating Swanson’s TV dinners
before the sets became behemoths
carted off on gurneys
to make way for the flat screens, as slim as
trophy wives, to be put on a pedestal
and admired, picture perfect as only
a paint-by-number picture can be.
YesNoYesNo. OnOffOnOff. 0101 the supermodels say.
Digital is so decisive,
but sometimes I miss maybe.
An Elegy for Analog: 6/12/2009
On this day, analog TV gave up
the ghosts- and the snow and the tin foil
on the antenna and the test pattern
and the national anthem at dawn
and “this is a test” and horizontal hold
and the slap on the side before you phoned
the repairman who wore a uniform
and tubes that glowed like embers
and tube testers at the local hardware
and the Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show
and Elvis on The Ed Sullivan Show
and opera singers and jugglers on The Ed Sullivan Show
and families huddled around that black and white
campfire, eating Swanson’s TV dinners
before the sets became behemoths
carted off on gurneys
to make way for the flat screens, as slim as
trophy wives, to be put on a pedestal
and admired, picture perfect as only
a paint-by-number picture can be.
YesNoYesNo. OnOffOnOff. 0101 the supermodels say.
Digital is so decisive,
but sometimes I miss maybe.
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