Sing a song for the Middle Brow,
the Target-tossed.
See them
in their temples;
glitzy nothings buy momentary affection.
Hear them
singing not songs, not sounds,
but jingles,
the catchy tunes that never fail to catch.
See them
thronging at the thrones of screens and windows.
Marvel
at the lights that hide.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I like this--it has a Psalmic feel to it. Should I feel bad that my family is at Target as I write this? And am I allowed to sing this to a melody of my own making? If I make it rhyme, it would make a great jingle.
"the lights that hide"--a reference to closing time? are the lights that hide true lights that hide under the glitz or are they the glitz themselves
I feel bad that my critique of middle brow comes in a middling, essentially middle brow poem (which is all I'm really capable of). The lights that hide is meant to be ironice- lights reveal, they're not supposed to hide. Yet look at all the lights strategically positioned in stores so as to make them look shinier and glitzier (more desirable) than they really are. So the lights "hide" the essential nature of the stuff they shine onby making them look like something they are not. Also, I think we are all lights, in a way, and middle browness wants conformity, people to hide their lights under a bushel.
Post a Comment