TV Monsters, Page 2

  Part I

  This is the story of an ordinary boy

  Who became a man and learned, almost too late,

  That things are not always what they seem,

  And that the best parts of life we ourselves create.

  It all started when I was a young lad;

  I must have been ten or eleven.

  My folks had died so I lived with my grandpa.

  In a place that was our own private heaven.

  Our house wasn't grand but he’d built it himself.

  A lake nestled close, a welcome guest;

  With deep woods all around for our curtain

  And daily a fiery window in the west.

  Now my grandpa was a happy old man

  Who loved to fish and laugh, sing and dance.

  He would grab me and we’d twirl like mad,

  And he’d shout, “Oh, there’re ants in my pants!”

  Gramps didn't have much education,

  But he possessed a kind of homespun wisdom.

  The names and ways of plants and animals

  He knew like his own— nature was his kingdom.

  And we toured his realm most every day!

  Bubbling springs where mighty rivers got their start,

  Hidden meadows carpeted with flowers; to me

  He revealed the earth’s secret beating heart.

  Clear nights we’d lie outside and drink the sky.

  He drew the moon’s phases and each constellation

  On a velvet blackboard shot through with stars

  That shone down upon us in holy consecration.

  But fishing was what we loved the most.

  Mornings bright and early we’d take the boat

  And fish for hours out on that quiet lake.

  More than once we would just talk and float.

  He would tell me tales of his own childhood

  On a hardscrabble farm, how he’d milked and plowed.

  Waves slapped hello; dragonflies flashed in reply

  As we’d slowly drift on a sea of mirrored clouds.

  We’d suddenly be brought back to this world

  As a rod would double over with a jerk

  And, whooping so loudly the hills resounded,

  We’d pull in a flopping bass—joyous work.

  Later we’d grab vegetables from our garden,

  Fry up those fish and have ourselves a feast.

  An old lamp cast a warm glow upon us;

  Gramps blessed the food like some pagan priest.

  We weren’t shy recluses or hermits—

  We’d go to town in Gramps’ old truck and shop.

  Every corner we’d run across a friend;

  At the five and dime I’d get a lollipop.

  And we had the radio for company!

  Among country folk it made quite a splash.

  The voice actors and sound effects were fun—

  We heard villains snarl and dishes smash.

  Money—I don't recall ever seeing any.

  I suppose we had none-- but oh we were rich.

  As Gramps used to say, “Light and air are free!”

  Through our simple ways we’d found a niche.

  Time’s alchemy turned these moments into years;

  Memory has redeemed them as golden days.

  Oh, how shocked we would have been to learn

  That all this was to be discarded and set ablaze.