Lassoed by one of those syndicated afternoons.
If you want to get poetic about it, I was bound,
gagged and leashed by the soft light of Cheers,
Sam, Woody and the gang playing a game
of Twenty Questions with me Abu Ghraib-style.
Mostly, I wore boxers, through which
I attended to dry skin. After Seinfeld,
Law & Order. I could go on.
During the commercials I hear a night court of mice
in the walls, scratching and alive; gavels clap
as they conduct awful trials in camera.