Easter TV

You woke up thinking you might share reality today.
Easter, after all, partook of the rejuvenating sway
of Spring: the thing, you thought, would be to bring
your widest receptivity to every provocation. “King
of Kings” was playing on the television: staid parades
of extras swarmed a manufactured Israel. Charades

of solemn doings, petty pieties: a cinematic heist,
bad actors clomping through: bland, blue-eyed Christ
looked like he’d rather have been doing porn.
And so you flipped the channel to the sordid worn
banal shenanigans of all the Louds – from Lance to Pat:
PBS had evidently thought the season was for that.

Plodding promulgation of a dreary clan: “American”
as rancid apple pie. You’d rather watch a ptarmigan
play footsie with a fly. Facetious specious stories,
Loud inert meanderings, ho-hum ersatz glories:
surely there were better tales to tell than these.
Christ! Somebody should kick the TV in the knees.






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