Channel Surfing
An original speculative poem
Distractions unravel the best laid plans.
Ever notice how much energy and enthusiasm you experience when you set lofty goals for yourself? You’re ready to conquer the world and convinced you will leave a stamp that will ripple through countless generations beyond your lifetime.
Then a TV show or video game beckons with its siren call and, suddenly, you barely remember your own name. Forget changing the world. You’re lucky if you remember to change out of your pajamas before dinner time.
Living life vicariously through favorite characters on a widescreen transforms into a time-wasting ritual or rite as quickly as pizza boxes start to outnumber furniture in your den. This poem is dedicated to the couch potato who has slain countless dragons and aliens without enduring pesky sunlight and fresh air.
A thousand channels before me. Gateway to strange new worlds. Distant and exotic locales existing beyond my fingertips. Choose your own adventure. Construct a new twisting path. Tanned surfers ride towering waves taunting and daring an angry ocean. My surfboard is a leather couch strewn with half-empty pizza boxes. Trust me, the water is fine. Dive in for an invigorating swim. Scenes unfold like a kaleidoscope. An eyewitness to untold wonders. High-speed chases down back roads. Giant spaceships locked in battle. One simple click is a first-class ticket. A journey through space and time. Forget stumbling upon a djinn contractually bound to three wishes. A remote control is a better key unlocking an expanding universe. Passing through a spacious widescreen Armed with a trusty bag of chips.
Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives.
Good stuff! Springstein's "57 Channels and Nothing On" seems like a good compliment piece.