Click here to read the next poem.   The Tower of TVs By Amberine Wilson   The tower of TVs was taller than me; he stacked them together all four … or three, and tilted his chair back so it was easy to see the tower of TVs that’d still be taller than me.   He called it “the box” and it worked as his muse, controlling his mood with its buttons and fuse. “What?” he would grunt as his thumb pushed down mute; “Nothing,” I said, but made faces behind the old coot.   I was sent to the table till my homework was done, then we’d mush up some ice cream just cuz it’s fun. Between five and five thirty when nothing was on, his guitar would come out and we’d sing Beatle songs   I noticed the power the tower displayed and watched how it soothed his nerves that were frayed because of some ship place where he worked “all damn day.” Then around six o’clock, “Come and get it,” he’d say.   I sat close beside him on the couch where we ate and beamed at his pride as I cleaned up my plate. When old Bunker was talking, I always laughed late, But Stanford was funny and Taxi was great.   Monday night football was never too loud; Three was a company, Barney Miller a crowd. Mash, Cheers, and Star Trek all seemed profound, but that’s the only TV I was ever allowed.   It was still blaring by eight twenty-nine, and I’d rush from the bath washed just in time to laugh with my dad at Hawkey’s first line and whine just a little when it was bed time.     © Copyright, Amberine Wilson   Click here to read Amberine’s Brief and Bizarre Bio.   Click here to read the next poem.