Sometimes...Moving Sucks...

Ballad of a Broken TV

Were you, Big Black Tele,

a gift of dorm days long?

Or severance from glee

filled nights once happy?

Left in a basement cold

you were rescued for me;

dusted, adjusted, behold

an off-green screen to see.

First move a simple four steps,

a half flight; but you trekked

cross country, to New Mex

shook n’ rocked but not cracked.

Ascended to floor two

through winding narrow stairs;

to descend again in June

friend complaints followed glares.

At Puerto del Sol we

lived celebrated days;

Favre’s INT, Boosh Mighty,

Roadhouse RIP Swayze.

Take you apart my friend?

See that one ton mirror?

Fix the bulb colored red?

Converge lines to make clear?

No, your bold brokenness

outlasted the burnt Daewoo;

you made gold the NES;

not all great things are new.

Alas, the POD wasn’t

a grand sized caravan;

and Seth’s threats to dent

my head caused me to plan.

Your demise would be sweet:

hauled down one last steel flight,

pushed one block down the street,

left for someone else’s delight.