The Television

I look in
They look out
Standing behind the glass
All finger marks
Static dust
They fade when the light
Lands on them
I do not
I stay solid
My particles here and now
Theirs there and then
Beamed
Bouncing on the ether
Cross channel interference
Splicing them with
Sleeping big cats
On an African plain
I dip in and out
Ignoring their voices
Selling me joy
Or youth
Or more TVs
On which to be sold
More TVs
On which to be sold
I look in
They look out

This poem was written as part of a regular poetry sharing with  @everay on Twitter.

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