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An Old-Fashioned Comedy

The television strobe divides the room into halves of poverty and grief. We’ve put down the dog but not its fleas. They jump from the olive green carpet on to our ankles. The old-fashioned comedy shines on us. The fat man dressed like a robot. The thin man in a vest gesturing relentlessly.

There is a red telephone next to the couch like the one that calls Russia at the end of the world. When it rings, we refuse to answer. The news is never good. How long can this go on? A long time, but quickly. The clock in the kitchen is fast.