Late night TV is better than sleeping,
It’s good for the brain to be coasting instead
Of tossing, turning, dreaming, and keeping
A fidgeting soul confined to a bed.
Papa’s recliner, off-balance and worn,
Attempting to cradle this foreign frame,
Like trying to line-dance a waltz, reborn
In the day of flyers walkers are lame.
This is the hour of disjointed thinking,
Bone-on-bone cracking beneath twisted spine,
An hour that drives others to drinking
To chase evening cocktail with midnight wine.
Oh how the mighty have fallen to crews
Who document failings on late night news!