I was a young boy, how young, well,
was in kindergarten at 4, this was before
I watched a sitcom, before that word
used, the TV show My Little Margie.
in the morning, I watched it so often it
part of me: Margie’s tight perm,
father’s pencil light gray mustache,
boss George Honeywell gray, gruff
a big desk; the neighbor elderly
Odetts’ turkey wattle neck peeped
a corner; Margie’s fiancée Freddie
in a bow tie, innocent, showing up.
watched so I became all of them; they
me. I could’ve gotten up, changed
channel. I stayed rapt in Margie’s
messes she’d gotten herself into..
was her, this exuberant brunette daughter
home in a high rise with an elevator
chairs and an industrious dad.
home there, with them I chose to be.
well aware all kids don’t have a choice,
many do. So when I hear parents
Seattle are suing a social media outlet
contributing to their children’s mental
I think something’s bad wrong.
me, many children have choices.
many, I realize, do not. Ones who do,
don’t blame TikTok or Instagram
your child mental illness. Children
no technology, there must be many
the world, in poverty
no choice, they are like animals.
no animals, have a choice.
even the subhuman Jeffrey Dahmer
Don’t blame music, drugs,
or my parents, I did it. Blame me.