A Rainy Day Song For Sly Stone
You know today was rained out
So inside all day just me and my
Clicker my box my many
Channels my 12- inch tube perched
On gray filing cabinet in corner
Of this lonely room I pay
For cable and I click and I click
My remote short for remote control
I guess sounds very futuristic but
Is already futile what kid today
Screens TV no they favor other devices
Other vices but I remain addicted
I need the rays the warmth the hearth
Sound on sound off
You Tube tune accompaniment
“I can feel it when you shine
On me,” I hear Sly now
In a wheelchair can’t snap
His fingers or comb grandchild
Or express gratitude except with long fingers
Signaling Sly’s still ok but for once just once
I want to be clicking the remote guide
To finally find a show worth my time
Something unlike Harry Potter Meet the Fockers
Some real reel something starring a young
Peter Falk a younger Elliott Gould
Alan Arkin Zero Mostel
Something more Cassavetes
Meets Harry Smith Meets
Stan Brakhage and so I press
Play but of course this channel requires
Special subscription so no to the one flick
I could stomach for once that not
Happening is all I am asking for
On the Day Mike Tells Alice He Will Be Switching Serials
Oh, Hello Alice! I didn’t expect to find you upstairs,
Away from your kitchen. Howdy, Mr. Brady…just putting away
Some freshly laundered towels for Jan. She is starting
To bleed. Do you like my new miniskirt? Twister
Polka dots become you, Mr. Brady. How about my wig? Too
Blond? Too Carol? Too 1969? No, Mr. Brady. Suits you just fine.
What about the platforms, Alice? Careful not to twist
Your ankle at the presentation today, Mr. Brady. Remember,
Your firm is competing with Mr. Pei’s for the Snow White
Super Slide Project. Would you say the same to Mrs. Brady?
To Marcia? Sorry, Mr. Brady, they aren’t architects. No Alice.
About my platforms! About needing to be careful not to fall
In my new platforms. Sorry, Mr. Brady. I guess I microaggressed.
Don’t do it again, or I must demand your two-week notice,
Even though you have been mine since my first wife’s suicide.
What was her name anyway? Understood, Mr. Brady.
Oh, and Alice, thank your boyfriend, Hal, the butcher.
Tell him I found the rack of lamb simply divine.
His name is Herb, Mr. Brady, but I will let him know.
Yes, Mort. And, Alice. Yes, Mr. Brady. Straighten
That rather loud tie of yours. Yes, Mr. Brady. The stars
And stripes on my tie honor our upcoming Bicentennial.
Amazing how far we’ve come. Indeed. You know, Alice,
After this season’s shooting ends, I will guest star
In a special two-part episode of Medical Center.
Oh, I thought you were an architect, Mr. Brady,
Not a physician. That is true as far as it goes, Alice,
But this episode of Medical Center will be very revealing.
It is about life, not art. Robert not Mike. In the episode,
“The Fourth Sex,” I will undergo a sex change operation.
No more masks, Alice. Yes, Mr. Brady. I’ll go tell Bobby.
He was going to make a mask of his hero, Joe Namath, to wear
To school tomorrow. A mask? Yes, Mr. Brady, your youngest son lied.
Bobby lied? Yes sir, he told friends he knew Broadway Joe.
To save his face, I agreed to sign the mask on behalf of Mr. Namath,
But now with your new rule about no masks, Bobby must tell
The kids the truth. Yes indeed, Alice. Yes indeed.
Daniel Morris is author of eight books on twentieth- and twenty-first century poetry and visual culture, editor or coeditor of five essay collections, and author of four books of poetry. Recent titles include Not Born Digital (Bloomsbury), Blue Poles (Marsh Hawk Press), a paperback reissue of his study of Nobel Laureate Louise Glück (University of Missouri Press), Essays and Interviews on Contemporary American Poets, Poetry, and Pedagogy: A Thirty-Year Creative Reading Workshop, and, as editor, The Cambridge Companion to American Poetry and Politics since 1900. He is a professor of English at Purdue University, where he has taught since 1994.
Image: Syced, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
