by Rachel Hoyt
image by Jomphong via freedigitalphotos.net
Murf Murphy, the vintage TV,
from his spot in the foyer could see
ad slogans turn into life mantras
in the lives of Jimmys and Cassandras.
He taught me all that he knew
as he knew his days were soon through.
"Don't believe what they say," he said,
"Slogans just brainwash and buy bread."
He'd taught me I deserve a break today
and that I can actually have it 'my way',
but that the taste of the new generation
should be good old, "Everything in moderation."
'Just what the Dr ordered' is not
found in anything that I ate or bought.
Yet, oatmeal is something to smile about.
Got milk? Smiles are less fun without.
The last words he grumbled were, "Say no to drugs."
as he flashed images of famous thugs.
"They can snap, crackle, pop your braincells
with their 'works like a dream' magic spells."
"You've come a long way, baby -
thoughts Zestfully clean now, maybe?"
Words, like pills, can have side effects.
I told Murf I knew that (now) when I paid my respects.
© 2012 Rachel Hoyt. All rights reserved
This poem was written for the parent of every child
who's being told pills are the best way to tame the wild.
Read more rhymes by Rachel at her new column, Clickety Clack -
poetic news about Santa Barbarians talking back