Six O'Clock

All distance is a sweet lie
now the world is mere electrons
beamed from there to over here,
and disaster is only a switch away
where the world is always ending.

And those same dark eyes stare
into the camera and understand
just how fast the channels change
while they stand in cold mud
that was their only wheat field
before it became one more battlefield.

But this is not what is wanted.
We all know how the world suffers.
It is time to move on, and talk
about the agony of computing
and gridlock in the morning,
and how each paltry pay rise
collapses under the weight
of so many more bills.

What is the price of one more
bloodied dark black hand
raised towards the TV screen
when we already have troubles,
so many troubles of our own?