Sarah finds the clicker, turns on the TV, sips her tea,
waits. Cold mornings lately, the little
Sony seems sluggish, slow to wake. Sarah
hopes it’s not dying, hopes this is just a winter thing. Imagines a small black animal, old, squarish,
sedentary. Dreaming colorful TV dreams,
waking reluctantly, shivering a little. Regaining
its capacity for speech first: “Next- Is this the umbrella of the future?” someone
at the Weather Channel says. By the time
the screen has brightened, picture wholly coalesced, they’ve gone to a
commercial.
(First published in Ink Sweat and Tears, 2007.)
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