Idiot Box

I am coming cheerfully round
to the proposition
that there is poetry
in idiocy.

Dear old Roo happily states
he'll draw a line under
the sand - as surreal
as you like it.

Perhaps he 'shouldn't of' tried
for the warm cliché, but
kept shtumm, left interviews
to managers.

So, still smiling, wryly perhaps,
at new Malaprops with
belief tautological
in a damp squid,

I am holding painfully back
from the television;
finding a replacement
too expensive.

But I'm just an elitist boor,
there's no listening
to - or by - anyone:
so we talk cock.