TV on. Children silent.
An escape from worlds around us.
And then the worlds would descend.
And condescend.
A mother’s voice telling her children what she thought was best.
Eat your vegetables.
Do your homework.
Finish your chores.
All we heard was static.
The drone, the buzz, the flicker.
Dimming the picture we tried to watch

And divorce.
And college.
And marriage for some.
And a new generation of escaping children.
All new lives.
All new channels.
And suddenly, we turned to static.
We may have seen the picture.
But now we saw The Picture.
And glad she was always there.
The drone, the buzz, the flicker.
Static.