There is a culprit who terrorizes me today.
It is not a person, no woman or man.
It is not a bomb ticking away with a song.
It sits in my living room with one black cord.
It turns on and off, yet it never seems to stop.
It displays one point of view.
It likes to act nice:
It tells me what to buy
What to wear
How to fix my hair
Why I shouldn’t really care.
It shows Cowboys and Indians on a global playing field.
We shoot with steel,
While they’e equipped with a bow.
Then the sheriff comes to the stage
To let us know all the bad ones are put away,
On a deserted island in some bay.
For the magic black box has so much to say
About this culture and who we are today.
Yet, why is there so much it forgets to play?