My Remote Conscience

The homeless build cardboard shacks
Inside my TV set
Beyond the glass interface
Is the world of have-nots

These are not plastic phantoms
Who curl up on video tape
And sleep on some news channel's shelf

They have names like Tyrone,
Bernice and Peter

Their bed at night is that cold unyeilding
Pavement called despair

And where yesterday's recycled newspapers
Prove a poor substitute for the comforting
Blankets of hope and compassion

Right now, I seem keenly aware of my blessings
My section of sidewalk has four walls
With a roof overhead to keep me warm and dry
And a cozy bed in which to sleep
To dream an old man's dreams

How ironic it is, that on tattered cardboard dwellings
Are often seen these faded words
Fragile...Handle With Care

Now sitting in my comfortable chair, clutching
The amoral plastic remote
A disturbing thought suddenly hammers my conscience

How easy it is, for me, to flee these real images
Of utter desperation
To the santuary of a sanitized Mr. Clean commercial
With just the touch of the remote button

Story ID:	3628
Written by:	Tom Foley (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Everywhere U.S.A.
Year:	2008
Person:	TomAF